Clay Pieces
by Everbay
Summary: 7th yr. All is not right with everyone in Hogwarts. Ron's caught cheating, Hermione goes to desperate measures to win him back. But when she enlists help, the last thing she expects was to lose herself completely. FDHG, pls RR, profanity & adult content
1. Chapter 1

_"A long December & there's no reason to believe_

_Maybe this year will be better than the last_

_I can't remember the last thing you said as you…_

_were leavin'."_

_-The Counting Crows_

_**One.**_

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was a grand staging ground, ancient in its steadfastness, elegant by stature. Within, weathered stones pressed against one another kept the formidable room its aged charm along with dimly lit nooks and crannies; but the medieval fantasy was kept alive with house elves trundling to and fro, effortlessly hiding…even before you manage to catch a glimpse of them. The floating mass of candles overhead gave the Great Hall its legend. But not more so than the vaulted ceiling, enchanted to echo the outside endless skyline. This magnificent room had always been and will continue to be the heart of the school.

Tonight was no different as it was pulsing alive with the vibrancy of youth. A new term had begun and as always scores of bodies filed into the cavernous expanse, abuzz with chatter, boisterous laughter and over all jocularity, the best time of the Hogwarts school day had all but come to an end – announcing that above all, it was dinner time. Clumps of cliques by then had already been formed and readied to raid the massive oak banquet tables. From your introverted outcasts to the extroverted attention whores, down to the athletes, freaks and geeks; despite being in different houses, many had made alliances with one another, but the majority remained true to their 'kind'. It was the normal social thing to do and no different from the Muggle world. But there was one group that was so exclusive, that it seemed to be by invitation only. At least that's what it was _assumed _for the first five years of their friendship.

They were simply called - _The Three. _Never too far from one another, some would dare to liken them to Siamese Twins…you just couldn't see the thin thread that bound them. Their legend had been created from their very first year at Hogwarts. Especially since their relationship was baptized by fire. And then it was made more infamous with the celebrity of their unequivocal leader – Harry Potter. It was his _destiny_ to never be forgotten.

Harry had become too old to be labeled _The Boy Who Lived. _He maintained his signature tousled hair, heavily rimmed glasses and began to brandish his scar much more prominently than he had previous years. Those _awkward_ years. His build was lean, devoid of fat, expected of an athlete that plays Quidditch. Harry was an icon of sorts for Hogwarts. Everyone either fancied him, or was in awe of the young man, _or_…hated him with abandon. He walked the precarious line of angsty teen, meets aloof cool. The James Dean of the Magical world. With his deep Emerald eyes and a soft but gruff voice, he'd have the women aflutter…and some young boys, if that's what he preferred. But no one…could harness his magnetism.

Though, the second of this obtuse grouping perhaps could. Ronald Weasley the main goalie for Gryffindor's Quidditch team came from humble wizard stock. Rugged good looks with flaming wild 60s-esque hair, was only matched with his outlandish personality. Much taller than the resident legend, Ron filled out during the years. Broad shoulders accompanied with strong often, calloused hands. His voice was a rogish brogue, which seemed to reverberate through one's body, which most of the female populace of Hogwarts found terribly attractive. He had been a loyal friend to Harry from the beginning; never having a real falling out with the Scarred young man.

But when the final leg had been introduced, it put a little spin on the otherwise tight bond that was already in place with Ron and Harry. Hermione Granger was an awkward prepubescent girl. Uncontrollable hair only offset with prominent frontal teeth, it made her look at least somewhat appealing. Her face was cherubic…accented by deepset eyes and a defined nose. What she had lacked in appearance, she made up for with a personality that was deadly sharp. Hermione's intellect became well known as much as her stubborn passion for what she believed in. Emotionally she kept herself at a lofty distance, allowing for bits to fall so that only her closest friends would have seen. After a rocky beginning, Hermione fit into the neatly working sprockets with the boys. Proving herself time and time again how vital a part she was to the team.

Like always though, time went on interests changed. Bodies…_changed_. She had grown into a prim and proper yet waify teenager. Not readily as curvaceous as the Patil twins, nor as exotic as Cho Chang, but the Muggle did come a long way from her awkward years. No longer was her outrageous hair poking out in every which way possible, it somewhat tamed, remaining full of volume but now more manageable. But her strong personality remained intact and unwavering in its intensity. You either learned to love her, or just minutely tolerated her.

Whether that was the case now, Hermione didn't rightly care. She valued the times when she was able to steal a moment or two away from the stress of Hogwarts' social circles. It wasn't that difficult for the Muggle Born to will herself to be invisible. All she needed to do was stifle her appetite to inject her _opinions_ on any topic. So…even among the swarm of busy bodies that gravitated to the Great Hall, Hermione tucked herself into a non descript nook, novella in hand and took to her favorite past time…people watching.

Especially observing the fairer sex.

And it wasn't because Hermione was _that_ way. There would be _no possible_ way that she would be. She adored men and found herself…comfortable about them, nothing attached, nothing complicated like over-charged emotions. There was no one more comfortable to be with than her beau of over a year and a half; Hermione had cared about him for longer than she could recall and could see herself with no one else but.

The Muggle born's eyes peered from the cloaked depths of her hideaway. Hermione observed these girls, in hopes to imitate their style, their airs. Their…femininity. Since being with Ron and Harry, she had taken to their boyish ways. Which could be off-putting when intimacy struck Ron. Hermione never really knew how to access that part of her. But here in the nook of her personal space, Hermione's gaze drifted towards one of the more popular women on campus. Padma Patil. The girl had a knack for the game. She ran through boys like a woman changing underwear. Ensconced in the dimly lit area, Hermione's fingers weaved into her thick locks, methodically massaging her scalp, emulating every nuance that Padma did. Down to the smoldering way the Patil girl puckered her lips to beckon the opposite sex further into her web.

"Have you taken ill?"

The sudden voice jolted the newly appointed Head Girl into the now which in effect, left her dropping her book before scouring the expanse to pinion the intrusion. Hermione let loose a disgruntled cough. Plucking her reader from the stone floor the Muggle Born regained her composure realizing who it was.

"Honestly, if you hadn't just rudely…," exasperated Hermione before catching herself with a breath, "What _are_ you going on about, Gin?"

With a motion of her hand over her features, the sinewy year younger red head replied, "Your face. It's all bunched up, like someone took a bloody mallet to it."

Hermione was unamused before chuckling dryly, "You're definitely a Weasley."

Ginny Weasley the youngest of the brood, held her own throughout her years at Hogwarts. She was popular not only for her _stunning_ looks, but her quick to wit and bubbly attitude. A people person, Ginny was easily gravitated to by all castes in the school. But above all this…she was Hermione's confidant and perhaps only _girl_ friend.

Cheekily, Ginny winked then shrugged, "You _don't_ say? I'll have to have a talk with mummy about that." Rounding the lounger that Hermione graced herself on, the taller Gryffindor settled upon an armrest carousing the Hall with her green orbs. "mmm…the usual suspects tonight – and who are we _case studying_?"

Hermione sighed, and grudgingly flicked her cocoa hues towards Padma. Ginny followed easily.

"Hogwarts' real life _blow_ up doll," snorted Ginny. "You _must_ be ill…One could develop what you Muggles call…STD by just looking at her!"

"Oh yes, Gin. Louder, I don't think she quite _heard_ you."

"Merlin's beard, 'Ermione - she's been ridden more times than Neville's blasted broom…In fact, I don't think he's ever managed to mount that thing since his first year!"

Hermione glanced back to Ginny under hooded lashes, "Ginny. That's terrible…", yet still afforded a soft scoff.

Canting her head a slight, Ginny added as an afterthought, "You _could _have picked someone a mite better to take notes from…"

The Muggle arched a slender brow precariously.

"Let's run through the list shall we?" mewled the Head Girl; crossing one leg over the other she lifted her digits and began,

"Milicent Bulstrode – _Right_, would she be my pattern for etiquette on _how_ to attain that wonderful greasy look of hers? Or.." she rose from her seat, jostling her friend, whom continued to look at her in utter amusement. "Miss Cho Chang – lovely girl, except when she's not going _absolutely_ mental emotionally, then there's Luna Lovegood – do we _really _need to touch on her? And dear Lavender Brown – _she's_ not even sure _which_ way she should _bat!_", she paused and looked Ginny straight in the eye…

"And finally…Pansy Parkinson – that's _rich_. The girl's as charming as a dull blade stuck into a pig. Would you have me adopt _her_ persona?"

"Whatever for? You've got a delectable one of your own already, luv." Ginny winked.

"Gin…", bemoaned Hermione, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well…_I'm_ certainly not a bad person to emulate."

"Do you _really _think that Ron would appreciate half the things he and I_ try_ to do, then seeing your sense of style and your mannerisms painted all over me?"

Ginny's mouth gaped opened, then closed…slowly but surely a look of disgust crawled on to the Red Head's features.

"Exactly."

"I'd be inadvertently boffing my brother…"

"You _seriously_ need to learn how pick and choose what you say."

Casting a glance towards the nearest timepiece, Hermione began to chew on the inside of her cheek, then lobbed her gaze towards the main body of the Great Hall. Most of the student body began to ebb away to their respected house common rooms, signaling that dinner was all but over.

"It's not like them to be late for food. Gin, did your brother mention anything to you…," intoned Hermione a little worry injected for good measure.

Ginny's jaws tensed slightly, moving off the armrest and offered a practiced response, devoid of any true emotion. "Quidditch practice… you know how they get." Gently, the much taller Witch eased her hand upon Hermione's forearm offering a reassuring squeeze, guiding her forth, "In the meantime – what say we polish off all the good stuff, I'm personally _starving._"

As Hermione lead the way, Ginny casually as she could muster coursed her eyes towards the entryway. It wasn't difficult to spot her older sibling. He was one of tallest boys entering the Great Hall and the most animated, but curiously stayed behind the main body of the group, comprised of Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, and the crush she's had since before she came to Hogwarts – Harry Potter. As they rounded into the main causeway, Ginny narrowed her eyes. Just a few paces ahead of Ron was Parvati Patil, Gryffindor's most eligible bachelorette and a carbon copy of her sister. The only difference was…She didn't advertise her services like Padma did. It was all hearsay.

"…Fucking trollop, she's no business being separated from Lavender." hissed Ginny.

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or be wary. The latter was perhaps the best way to tread. But the joke was in itself funny. It's a rare thing to see Parvati and Lavender away from one another for an extended amount of time. Poor Lavender, though. She had confessed to Hermione by unfortunate circumstances that the she had been pining after her raven haired best friend for sometime; yet…Lavender to this day had still been denying acknowledgement of her sexuality.

She would never want to suffer through pain of that magnitude…

As those memories began to surface of that event in time, Hermione gave her head a slight shake, clearing her mind.

The 7th year Muggle glanced over her shoulder towards her friend and right off the bat, had taken note of her irritability. Just by the color of her ears, the Weasleys easily advertised their discomfort that way. Her eyes followed Gin's line of sight and paused at the newest incoming group. Arcing her brow she spied Parvati, Harry to her right, Ron to her left and a smattering of boys from each house: Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs just lingering behind. It wasn't news that Parvati and Ginny weren't readily friendly to one another, but they never brought their dislike for the other to the fore. Hermione could only garner a logical guess as to _why_.

If rumors about the Patil twins were true, Parvati could easily be moving to her newest target, Harry Potter – whom she already had a history. What with her being scorned at the Yule Ball their 4th year, the tawny colored Gryffindor woman's wounds, may've healed. And Harry Potter was just one of some she's not conquered. Harry though, was and will more than likely remain, Ginny's on again and off again flame. Perhaps this was the singular point of Ginny's dislike for the exotic teen.

The ruddy-eyed Head Girl was glad she's never had that type of unstable relationship with Ron – she needed some form of steadfastness in her life. Especially dealing with the likes of her two lifelong friends.

Among her duty as Head Girl, she was the appointed peacemaker, or at least, the ONLY sane being for her house. Surprising that, given her track record with one Draco Malfoy who she had clocked in their 3rd year. With the utmost cautiousness, Hermione's hand rested upon Ginny's shoulder before she easily she maneuvered herself between her and Parvati, just in case. The former was notorious for her quick anger. After all, Hermione was witness to some spectacular fights between Ginny and her rumpled looking lover.

As Parvati and crew closed the gap, Hermione inclined her head and offered a charitable greeting by way of a smile, she couldn't help that her gaze traversed towards the towering Red Topped male, the love of her young life.

Ron met her gaze and reciprocated with that ever lop sided twist of his own but soon after, averted his eyes and unto the back of Parvati's head.

"I do hope the practice hadn't worn you so much that you can't have some dinner with me…?", questioned Hermione, hoping above all to ease the forming tension.

The other lads must have felt the same ambiance shift and sought refuge from a possible melee to the nearest benches. And Harry, remained silent for the most part, only exchanging eye contact with Ginny every now and again.

Hermione assumed they had got into another argument.

"Just a lil," replied Ron, drawing Hermione's attention back to him. Ron trailed his eyes towards the group of boys that now deserted him. His massive paw rubbed the shag that he called his hair. "Parvati was nice enough t'bring a light snack is all."

Hermione spared a quick glance to Parvati who lifted her brow and smiled broadly towards Ron then onwards towards the Muggle.

"That's very sweet of you to do, Parvati," murmured Hermione, then added, "I hope he had manners enough to at least tell you thanks."

Ron coughed.

"Mm, yes that he did. Quite the gent you've got there Hermione, well trained...," remarked Parvati, with a hint of a smile underlying her dulcet tone, "but…If you pardon me, I think Lavender's waiting," Quietly she excused herself and breezed her way past Ginny leaving that illustrious raven mane to trail freely at the small of her back.

"Hey...ah Parvati, thanks again for th'uh...what y'did, rather - _gave_ at th'pitch. Helped my game tons," Ron offered quickly.

Pausing, Parvati spirited about and with an elegant toss of her luscious mane, winked, "The pleasure was utterly mine, Ronald."

As soon as Ginny felt the Indian descended teen was out of ear shot, she gutturally growled her discontent. Aggravated, she stared at her brother before looking towards Hermione. Without much fanfare, the taller Witch leaned forth and offered a chaste kiss to the Head Girl's cheek,

"I…won't be too far – if y'need me, luv."

Hermione furrowed her brow and nodded with unsure curiosity. Something was amiss. And for the first time, the Head Girl couldn't pinion the problem. She'll have to corner Ginny once again.

Ron stoically watched his sister edge from the pair his gaze intent. The intensity was broken though, as Hermione entwined her fingers with his. He glanced to her studying her face for only a beat. She looked at him with nothing but trust laced in her eyes.

He couldn't stand to look longer than necessary.

"Ron…?"

The worry was like a thick, clinging to her voice.

His mammoth paw firmly gripped Hermione's smaller hands and drew them to his gruff lips.

"'Ow was you're day? Get much done?", questioned Ron, turning towards one of the nearest seats and plopping unceremoniously onto the bench.

"Just the usual, you know…"

Ron looked away, already knowing the reply. It sickened him at how routine his teenaged life became. Since the defeat, apparently of You Know Who's regime life was simply…just there for existing. And the only thing that pumped him with vigor had been Quidditch and…

His green orbs danced towards a few tables placed to the left of the cavernous room…it had been easy to find that girl. The one with the deep raven hair that almost looks purple as the sun played over it. Almost blessedly…the caramel goddess turned to afford a pitying smile towards him.

"…But that's it." Hermione paused, a crease forming between her brow. Her ire had been raised. He'd never listen. It's to be expected…Still. "Ronald." Her tone had become more forcible.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the Qudditch player quickly looked to Hermione.

"What?"

"Were you listening?"

"Yeah, o'course!"

"And?"

"Well," Ron's hands began to pantomime as he fought through the haze of his wandering thoughts to 'get into' the mindset of his predictable girlfriend. "…Just make a few more socks te'…y'know off-set the scarfs y'made f'them elves. But, I still reckon they like it just fine…they make good rag-wipes after all."

Normally his cheeky reply would spur a battle of words…this time…

Hermione's lips quirked into a small smile, she nodded just barely. Ron crossed his arms over his chest observing her before he reached forth and pulled her to him until she nestled upon his thighs. Gently, he pushed her healthy swath of locks from her neck.

The heat of Ron's breath as he spoke blanketed her exposed flesh, immediately sending ripples of unbridled ecstasy through her smaller frame.

Pleased at Hermione's reaction, Ron whispered, "You were doubting me, weren't you?"

Her eyes lowered guiltily, "I…just…" fidgeting, Hermione tucked a tuft of her locks behind an ear, "There's just times it feels like I'm butting my head against a bloody wall. I'm sorry Ron."

Burying his face easily into the nest of hair, Ron chuckled, "Y'wound my pride when y'don't trust me, 'Ermione."

"Funny that. You forget that I have a brilliant right hook," amusement clung to her words. "So I wouldn't worry about your '_pride_' hurting much if it ever boils down to it."

He laughed.

She loved the sound of it.

"Yeah, I don't think ol'Malfoy e'er got over that."

"Good! The roach needed a li…", Hermione wasn't able to finish her thoughts. For just outside the Great Hall, accusatory voices echoed and filtered into the room. The words were incoherent, except when a few expletives shot out from the female intoned voice.

"Isn't that Ginny…and…Harry?" she murmured; quickly she looked about, only now noticing that the scarred youth wasn't to be found. He must have gone after her. Hermione soon eased off her lover's lap only to be stopped by Ron. But it didn't cease her worry of the youngest Weasley. Ginny had been tense throughout the young night.

"Why don't you take a break…I'll 'andle this. I mean," Ron paused and oozed with his playful charm; not to mention it being the perfect moment to speak with his younger sibling,

"It's th'reason I'm th'Ead boy, 'sides, she's my sister an' is obligated t'listen te me."

Hesitantly, Hermione agreed.

"Whatever you're going to do, Ron, make it quick, mm? I won't make any promises that I'll be saving you the best morsels."

He offered a roguish smile before dipping his head for a stolen yet semi heated kiss.

Teasing, Ron said, "I'll just 'ave t'ave you make it up te me."

Her cheeks began to swelter with heat – no doubt a rush of color crawled over her fair skin. Unable to fire back with a snide comment – Hermione settled for one that was customary and that oozed with reprimand.

"Honestly Ronald…"

He waved off.

Slumping onto the bench nearest she, Hermione propped her elbows upon the aged oak table top. Candidly she dipped her head just a tad, whereby her fingers were able trawl over her lips, tracing the lingering wet that coated them. Her tongue tip slithered forth just fleetingly and drew in the remnants of her lover. Hermione blinked, tasting a foreign flavor.

"Raspberry…" she softly commented to no one in particular. It definitely wasn't _her_ lip gloss.

For a moment longer, the brightest Witch of her school sat in thought. Things were happening that were obviously out of her control. The concern was all but etched upon Gin's features, the negligent nights that Harry and Ron spent away. So many unanswered questions and it was just barely the beginning of the term.

The Muggle born afforded another scoff as she shoved numerous scenarios running rampant in her mind; but as she lowered her eyes to her damp fingertips. One prominent query screamed out…

When did Ron begin using flavored Chap Stick?

* * *

His eyes worked to loosen the sleep that blanketed them, but he wasn't a very patient man. With the butt of his palm he aided the process. As one bleary eye took in the current environment the other joined and refocused.

The room was bathed in charcoal darkness, save for one or two Grecian oil lamps that hung liberally from iron rods, but above that there really wasn't much light. Heavy drapes covered the massive arching windows that in effect, the man really didn't know what time of day it was. Comfortably his robust body nested further into the rumpled sheets of the beddings. He was surprised this bed could harbor his lengthy frame at all. But then again…he didn't _sleep_ much.

Bill Weasley was a man that never really demanded much for his life. He preferred to live by his rules. Not that he imposed many rules on himself, mind, but Bill lived on the edge for reason – he didn't want the complications that life loved to throw at everyone. And the eldest Weasley boy had succeeded for the most part.

What he hadn't accounted for…was _her._

Bill gazed up to the darkened ceiling, which seemed endless by the scope of his imagination. By this time his eyes had acclimated and what light was provided, he witnessed a distant past. Shadows flickered across the bedroom walls, tugging forth the first images of his memories.

She was like any young female teenager, full of idle fancy, having everything, wanting more and needing everyone to covet her. But…the girl never needed to worry about the latter. Fleur DeLacour was an enchantress with her Veela blood. Despite having the disposition of a girl that _only_ knows finery and creature comforts, no one male could resist her beauty. Even at the tender age of seventeen, the French girl knew this. That _arrogance_ was what drew Bill to her web.

So he hoped.

The roguish ginger haired Wizard liked to believe that his will was above any sort of magic.

There was a shift within the beddings that drew Bill's attention for a moment. The dimly lit enclave didn't do well to hide his bedmate's silhouette, nor did the sheet that blanketed her. It molded to every curve that dipped and inclined (ever so gently) from her hip, to the coasting small of her back, and finally her beckoning shoulders. Her body was that of Venusian's – supple, satin to the touch. The deep breaths indicated she was still sound asleep.

_Thank the gods for that_…

Otherwise, Fleur would have regretted having fallen asleep in his bed after one of their sessions. The French Witch made him go _mad_ with want – It was as if he couldn't get his fill of her. Even now…he couldn't stop his hand from just reaching out and…touching that magnificent silken platinum hair.

It really wasn't supposed to be like this.

But really, he couldn't complain because the _sex_ was incredible.

Bill's thick digits coursed gently through the tail end of Fleur's strands…They had been together for the past three some odd years. Though not in a way that he'd've thought they _would _be.

The bed jostled once more and Bill ceased his ministrations. A soft, yet contralto voice, still clung with sleep rung out.

"_Est il déjà_…Iz it morning…?"

Her accent was still prominent, but Fleur's English had vastly improved. Bill still loved that purr that would be produced by her speech.

He smiled in the dark, "Reckon it is – haven't yet checked th'time."

"_Merde."_

The sheet was thrown from her naked form with little effort as a few more words dressed in French were spewed from her pillow-lipped mouth. No doubting in Bill's mind, they were all but unladylike. This amused him. Rousing his lean body upright, he groped at a night stand off to the side of the bed. Finding what he blindly sought for, the Wizard lifted the delicate object aloft and gruffly murmured,

"_Lumos."_

His wand gently awoke with the uttered incantation. A soft glow permeated the room and before Bill's gaze was Fleur just having barely slipped on her panties. Her back was to him even as he trailed the light over every roller-coasting curve of her body.

Fleur pulled her perfect hair over one shoulder as she glanced to him. The French Woman's near colorless pupils twinkled. She puckered her lips and elicited an ever soft, counter spell.

"_Nox."_

The room was once more clouded in dark. He chuckled dourly, "_That_ wasn't very nice, Ms. DeLacour, jus' wanted to wake up to a _sight _that would put morning's light to shame."

"_Je vous demande pardon_, m'sieur Weasley – You 'ad _many_ sights to see last night, no? Nothing 'as changed since then," curtly replied Fleur.

He sighed. She had changed. For the better, Fleur would argue. Bill on the other hand, saw _nothing_ good about it. The girl he met had no longer depended on the need to stroke her ego. Which, in turn meant no more _favors_ granted on a whim. He never found out as to why there was a sudden change in her.

Fleur felt his gaze burrow onto her back. Were she that ignorant child of long ago, she would have been excited at the prospect that this man was now her pawn. That a single sway of her hips would have had him on his knees begging for a lick of her heaven sent flesh.

Now…

She almost couldn't stomach the thought. Fleur barely recognized the man that stared at her. The eyes that coveted her are those very eyes she recalled in her teenaged years. The lust and want…She hoped that Bill was _different_. She hoped he was _the_ one. Throwing caution to the wind, the young French Witch gave _everything _she was to Bill Weasley.

Her heart.

Her mind.

Her innocence.

Fleur knew that everyone, her schoolmates, friends and parents thought she had lost her virginity a long time ago. And she let that assumption fly – It only added to her _legend_. It was a part of the Veela mystique as much as the icy exterior.

No one, her grandmamma said once, _was to be allowed in, unless…they are worthy for your heart._ _So let them draw their conclusions because that's all jealous and ugly people do, it is only important that you know the truth. _

Everyone was trifled with, until that diamond was found. It lasted for a little over a year. But the relationship turned sour when Bill suddenly fell victim to the Veela charisma…he wasn't immune. And it tore Fleur apart. It only meant…she wasn't destined to have that elusive _True Love_.

When she began to realize that she was nothing more than just a _trophy_ for Bill to parade and pine after, she grew distant, throwing herself into her work. Allowing her to reinvent herself, to depend on no one _but _herself and broke that one time bond she cultivated with Bill.

Of course, like any being that breathes, there is one thing that both men and women share a carnal need of…

"C'mon Fleur…you owe me _something_ you know. We _are _together…"

Snapping on her bra, Fleur whirled about and with a flick of her hand towards the covered windows and said, "_Abrir"_, willing the drapes open. Sunlight screamed mercilessly into the room, causing Bill to grimace.

"Est ce vrai …? In your _dreams_ maybe." paused Fleur, "And I gave you zat _somesing_ last night, somesing we both needed, oui," she hissed dangerously, causing her to ease into her accent and native tongue.

Soon she found herself leaning forth and her delicate hands began gripping the posterbed they had shared the night before, then continued…

"Th'best _fuck_ you've e'er 'ad, m'sieur. Because ZAT is what we agreed on, no?"

_Friends With Benefits._

Yes, he remembered agreeing to that. It was the only way he could assure she would stay with him; there would be no way he would let another _own_ her. Fleur was feral, her eyes turned into angry silvery pools that threatened to suck him in. She was turning ugly. Figuratively and…outwardly. Veela had a nasty tendency to do that – change their appearance when extreme emotions were involved.

Bill lurched forward in return, just as threateningly.

"How _can_ I forget? You remind me e'ry _bloody _day!"

Her mind freefell into a swirl of pain, the base of her skull throbbed maniacally. Fleur was nauseous. It was part of the Veela curse and part of the _forever illness_ that she found herself succumbing to more easily now. Fighting the onset of the _change_ had gotten customary for the Veela. Raking her fingers through the mesh of her hair, Fleur glanced to Bill.

"I asked you last night…," she murmured dryly, "Do you love me? Everything I am?"

Hope filled Bill for the first time in eight months. Carefully he answered, "Everything."

She searched his features.

But…

"Except when you let that _thing_ come out, if you just let yourself stay calm…you'd be as devastating as you were when you were younger. I _love_ your sensuality…your beauty," Bill seriously intoned.

He reached forth in an attempt to cup her cheek, hoping that cemented his conviction for the Silver-Haired temptress.

Fleur recoiled immediately, slapping his hand away in disgust. She backpedaled before hearing him cry out and fumble from the bed.

"Are you _mad_? You've fucking lost your mind!" Bill came up from behind her, stark naked and spun her about with his mammoth hands gripping her slender shoulders. "This idiotic display of your _drama queening_ is really, getting' tiring, Fleur."

"Don' tes' me…else you will _know_ 'ow _mad_ I can get, c_omprenez_?" she inhaled deeply adding, "If you please – I'm already late for work az it iz…"

Cooly, the Veela eased herself from Bill's presence, her storm colored orbs met his immaculate yet, surprised jade ones with defiance. A different fire from within Fleur, had been stoked. One that Bill had never seen.

_Hate._

"What happened to you…I thought you _loved _me."

Fleur scoffed. "There you 'ave made your mistake, Bill. You were _thinking._"

He could ill afford to lose her. But he couldn't NOT have the last say in their arguments…

Rounding the hallway that led to her private sanctuary, the scantly clad woman heard his desperate retort.

"I hope you get your heart broken DeLacour…and I _hope_ it hurts."

As she began to twist her hair into a loosely made bun, Fleur uttered softly, "_Cerrado."_ At her bidding the door gently shut closed. Her movements were entirely natural, but overflowing with the grace she possessed. Fleur sat at her vanity recognizing the face that she was born with.

Ice colored eyes regarded her from her mirror. The perfection returned. Silvery blonde and shimmering hair, with high cheekbones, polished off by full lips. Obviously the _illness…_the pain began to ebb, allowing her breathing to ease into that familiar rythym. The words that Bill spewed played in her synapses relentlessly though. And Fleur simply replied,

"…You have to have a heart _to_ hurt, m'sieur, and that…in my case, will be very unlikely."

* * *

_a/n: I've been traveling (thanks to work) and got hit with an urge for a new tale to try my hand at. I know, I know…sue me. But I feel like this particular story has got my juices flowing once more, since it's a tad more personal. RR no flames is the only requirement._


	2. Chapter 2

_a/n: The characters belong to JKR; having nothing but respect for the authoress this is my spin on the Potter-crew, presenting them with situations that teens often face this day and age. Yes, this is another f/f fiction, whether you like it or not, please let me know but if it offends you…then don't go any further. As always your comments are very welcomed._

_**Two.**_

_**Not more than just a few hours before…**_

She paced the length of the hallway just outside of the Great Hall, with seemingly no other soul in sight. Hearing her footfall come in contact with the cobble stone path, Ginny thought how lonely it sounded. How fitting then that the fair skinned Witch was here in a state of overwhelming misery.

_Misery loves company_…

Her insides wrestled with doing the easy and right thing or…to go on protecting Hermione from the inevitable. Ginny had all but chewed her nails to the fleshy nub wrought with worry and fear. Shifting her nervous habit, the slender witch's fingers busied themselves along the frayed edges of her School approved sweater – not that it eased the anxiety. Before long her slender digits wormed their way back to her lips. Her fear was mounting she couldn't stave that emotion off for the life of her. It was a fear of losing her; She who had become a friend and a sister.

As Ginny passed the opening to the Great Hall for the third time, she lobbed her concerned gaze into the room. Hermione was in a state of Nirvana…The Muggle was so lost in the moment, cherishing whatever time was granted with _him. _The Git of all Gits. Hermione had been absolutely radiant for the past year – the Muggle born likened it to being _over the moon in love_. Romanticism at its best, hopeless in all its glory.

Something the lightly freckled faced youth thought a little illumination was needed. The guilt was torturing her.

Ginny didn't want to be the one to do it. She couldn't watch those immaculate cocoa depths wither in front of her. The Witch's eyes shifted towards movement that stirred from the corner of her eye knowing who it was by just his earthen scent.

"It's not your place." the voice murmured.

The shadows caressed his features, like her fingers did once.

"Like bloody hell it's not," she turned about, still gnawing liberally upon her shoddy nails, "And what of you? You're the very _soul_ that got me into this pickle, so don't you _dare_." The young woman never bothered to lessen the venom that licked the edges of her utterance.

As Harry pushed off from a nearby wall, while a slew of girls spilled from the main entryway en route from the courtyard. Ginny rolled her eyes as she witnessed Harry unable to help himself from putting on his boyish charm. It always appeared in the form of either a flash of a smile or his hand slipping through his roughshod hair that sent them wonky, Ginny never knew which but in her mind it was just a play of utter adolescent stupidity. As if on queue, the girls had paused affording a few hushed words, giggles and admiring looks.

"_All right_ already! We know you're all_ budding_ little whores, …_sod_ off," elicited a very irate young Weasley.

Harry hadn't appreciated that; he did not like being discomfited in public. But considering his one time love in this conduct, didn't sit well with him either. He glanced apologetically towards the group who were looking towards the green eyed Weasley in disbelief.

"Ginny…," urged Harry in hushed tones, "C'mon. Be nice."

Letting loose a sigh, she relented. Plastering on a debutante's dazed smile from one of those Muggle pageants, Ginny clopped her hands in marriage and offered with faux pax sincerity,

"My apologies…I'm in a delicate state at the moment…but…If you would ladies, Mr. Potter and I have a personal issue to discuss…so sod off," they gasped in unison. She paused, inwardly delighting in their reactions before adding, "Oh _gods_ fine… _Please. _Sod. Off," with eyes filled with sarcastic mirth, Ginny watched the dumbfounded herd, "Is that _better_?"

Horrified, the girls skittered away nary sparing a look to either Ginny or Harry. Not that they'd've noticed – since they'd taken a keen interest in one another, each fitted with a look of neutral ambiguity. But she was the first to break eye contact with the Wizard; quietly the Witch wandered near the opening of the Hall.

"…I _said_ please. You heard me," the young woman afforded not a few moments afterward; mostly in hopes to ease the phantom wall that now stood between them.

Unphased by Ginny's sudden show of wicked mockery, the stubborn Gryffindor seeker pursued the truth that was so barely hidden beneath the rouse they've cultivated. Slipping his hands into a pair of ruddy jeans, Harry steered the conversation.

"He's your brother."

"And? She's _one_ of your oldest friends."

"Don't worry…I know where my loyalties lay."

She narrowed her eyes and turned their fury onto Harry, who stood not more than a breath away from her now.

"Then _prove_ it!"

There was a coppery taste that leaked from the back of his throat, Harry's teeth were clenched so tight against his inner cheek that it cut the soft flesh within. The wizard was challenged. As cliché as it may be, he _never_ backed down from a challenge.

"I already have and already AM, more times than you could possibly count! Whether _you _like it or not," he suddenly raged. But Ginny refused to give up any ground to him, Harry had always admired that part of the red topped woman so out of whatever respect that he still had for her, the Wizard's voice dipped a notch lower, yet coated with intensity, "I expected you of all people to appreciate the situation…It's not hurting _anyone_. It won't, I swear."

"Do you _hear _yourself? Do you _honestly_ believe that," Ginny gawked incredulously, burying her face into the nest of her palms; a torrent of emotion just ripped from her, "How can that kind of mentality _not_ be hurting anyone?"

"Because unless y'opened your mouth, sis we wouldn't be here having this conversation." Ron edged closer to the pair, draping his lengthy arms over both their shoulders and drawing them away from the gaping mouth of the semi emptied Great Hall. Where he knew Hermione looked on from in morbid curiosity.

" You two need to tone down –," Ron chuckled amicably, "Speaking of…I read somewhere…"

"Are you sure you're not just _looking_ at pictures and _slapping_ on your asinine babble?" she sniped; gone was the usual press of play of his sister's tone.

Ron pressed his chapped lips to his younger sib's temple whispering harshly, "It's that fire that burns everyone else that hurts, careful Gin." He cleared his voice and pressed on, gripping the two snugly,

"As I was saying…I read somewheres… _fact _t'was one of my 'Mione's scientific Muggle readers…said high decibels aren't any good for a _baby_….isn't that a kicker…" Ron paused in reflection, "So you two oughtn't be fighting so much, yeah?" An arm dislodged itself from about Harry's neck before it, along with Ron's hand vigorously rubbed at Ginny's concealed belly.

Harry grew frigid. _Ron wouldn't dare…_

Ginny's eyes had begun to mist as she looked pleadingly towards Harry.

"Ron! That's _enough!_," implored his best friend.

"At's right," Ron continued non-plussed, sympathetically his eyes trailed towards his sibling, "The bun didn't bake…."

Not more than a second passed before the elder Weasley felt the moisture of Ginny's saliva trailing on his cheek, he then wiped off the bodily fluid with the back of his hand. By Merlin that was a healthy hock, the twins would have been especially proud. He deserved it…

"You calloused _bastard_," shakily hissed Ginny.

Ron felt culpable for stooping so low.

And it wasn't blackmail, not in his book.

But it was the only way his sister would understand. Not more than a few months had passed when he and Hermione were told about his sister's circumstances. Ron remembered wanting to _murder_ Harry for first…defiling her that way. With much canoodling from Hermione, on behalf of Ginny, Ron gradually warmed to the thought of playing uncle. No one else had known. Not even the rest of the closely-knit Weasley clan. The secret had been kept.

Harry ached to reach out to her, but reason stood in the way. She never forgave him for being so…indifferent that day she told him. In truth, Harry had been in shock and still so young he had not an iota of what to do. The hero bungled. Ron moved towards his sister, his hands gently nestled about her shoulders then drew her into a loose embrace.

Ginny's body convulsed purely on its own accord; she couldn't believe that the hurt was still raw in her. Above her pangs of deep breaths, the young Witch heard her brother speaking.

"…Not nice is it?"

_She shook her head. Don't let the tears fall._

"Hurts?"

_She nodded._

"…All you wanted was t'be protected, huh?"

_She hic-coughed and nodded._

"And that's what you're doin', Gin. Keep that in mind."

_Yes. Protecting Hermione._

"We all just wanna be happy…, and she is happy; not knowing makes her that way, don't you want the same for your brother?"

_She barely nodded._

"Good…," Ron kissed the top of her head, "C'mon. Hermione's waitin' on us for dinner."

In a daze, she followed obediently. As they entered the Hall once more, Ginny quickly mopped her eyes free of the distress from earlier – hoping she succeeded. Hermione lifted her eyes from her reader and gave the lot a broad based smile.

"Finally. I thought I was going to have to brown bag the whole for myself..."

"Geez 'Mione! Don't want people thinkin' I'm dating some porker!" guffawed Ron, plopping himself unceremoniously alongside his girlfriend, already beginning to pick from her stash.

"Really Ron – being pleasantly plump only signifies one's contentment in their lives," gingerly replied Hermione, her eyes flicked towards Ginny her jovial nature eased into deep concern. Rising from her seat, the brown eyed woman cupped her friend's chin. She encouraged a gentle smile to play over her blushed colored lips as their eyes met.

"Gin…talk to me…"

It was simple as that, Hermione could always coax a heart to open and bleed to her once she sees something off beam. The athletic Weasley righted herself as she allowed a fleeting smile to form over her lips. In quiet earnest, Ginny studied the Muggle born – God she admired the woman.

She was an incredible friend. Who couldn't love Hermione Granger?

Ginny nodded somberly. Ron, who looked on, grew a deeper shade of crimson. Softly, with much gruffness to her voice she began,

"Have you ever seen Crabbe and Bulstrode try to make out…? They looked like two pigs mucking around without mud. I…my eyes couldn't take it."

It was delivered with that Weasley 'matter-of-fact'-like quip that it had to be a joke.

The Head Girl blinked as her lips and chin quivered, failing to hold back the gale of laughter that erupted from her. Ginny immediately drew Hermione in, holding her close as she afforded instances of customary chuckles to wrack her body. Ron soon relaxed.

The charade ploughed on as Ginny Weasley came to terms.

_…Ignorance,** is** bliss._

_

* * *

_

**Currently …**

Most normal wizards…or witches for that matter…would have exploited the ability to Apparate at will to any given spot. It's convenient and ultimately quicker than what Fleur DeLacour had _presently_ done. By her logic, this was far more challenging and daresay…_fun._

Fleur shifted her rag-topped Cooper into fifth pushing the steadfast car within the city proper, images of buildings, landscape and people whizzed by. Speed had become a compulsion for the Frenchwoman; it pushed her motor skills to the limit. How quick could she respond, how simply would it come to her without thinking…Naturally her muscles flew in absolution, shifting one gear to the next while in tandem her feet worked in asynchronous precision. Fleur could see why Muggles had a carnal lust for such things. At times she found it more liberating than magic – the adrenaline quickening through her was a testament to that fact. But more importantly _this_ made her forget.

London's streets though readily negotiable, were detrimentally narrow and more often than naught strewn with people constantly in a rush _needing_ to be somewhere. Whether they _wanted_ to be there, was a different topic altogether. Eventually reality blurred into her headspace bringing a close to her freedom for the day. Fleur navigated her vehicle into one of the many winding alleyways of Muggle London finally making it to her destination.

Having coasted the Copper to a halt, Fleur glanced towards the run-down pub. The words were barely decipherable but to the wizarding community the Leaky Caldron was the portal her world, tucked away in a little shanty part of London's east side. The Frenchwoman spilled from her vehicle as she did every workday then quietly flicked her wrist accompanied with a soft enchantment. The dependable car slowly began to fade from view.

With a sweep of her arctic gaze she made sure that no prying eyes linger; Fleur tucked into her deep azure cloak, which seemed more of a stylized poncho, then drew her lofty height towards the entryway of the pub. In little more than a blink though, the woman was engulfed in a plume of soft mauves and grays….

- - - -

"Why'd it _have _to be me…"

No answer was given, save for the soft echo of her despondent voice.

Grudgingly she moved through the massive labyrinth passing Olympic like torch holders set ablaze lighting her way and leading her further into the bowels of the Earth. The ground the witch was treading had always been treacherous so she knew she needed to be doubly careful – that alone was a mind-boggling chore to do.

The deeper she went, the hotter it had began to get – eventually she could not bear it and shed her cloak. Finally, the Witch arrived to the designated area. Since her eyes had already been acclimated, it wasn't difficult for her to pinion the massive void that lay just off to the side. A gaping wound in the otherwise meticulously protected realm.

Then a sudden wave of nausea rocked her senseless. She barely had time to press herself against the slick craggy walls for stability. Her eyes refocused as before her a plume of soft-gray shown. But the face was unrecognizable save for the greasy page-boy like haircut.

"_Well."_

"Just like he had promised it would be."

"_Get on with it."_

"You could say please you know," dryly commented the Witch

The image sneered dissipating with the slightest wind that rustled the plume of smoke.

"I _still_ say we could have just _asked._"

Looking towards the massive emptiness, the Witch pressed tongue to cheek and deftly twirled her wand tween her fingers. As the wand nestled at the padded flesh of her thumb and forefinger, it began to pulse alive with a lavender glow.

Peripherally the Witch saw the dark stir. _This_ is what she had been trained for…_somewhat_.

"Wakey wakey kids, mum's got a lovely treat for you t'day."

- - - -

A thunderous clap was heard throughout the fourth tiered office space alerting the menagerie of workers, that someone just Apparated in. It was a common occurrence in their workplace but at this time of day could only signal _who_ it was. And she was _always _punctual.

"Cheek up ladies and gents…_The Bird_ jus' landed," a slew of excitement bubbled from the cubicles about. Some accompanied by grunts of disdain.

"I just all about wet me knickers," another guiltlessly admitted while preening herself.

"Didn't know you played tonsil hockey for the other side luv."

The former chuckled, "Oh please…no, I love men and their lil dangly bits! But by_ Flamel…_"

The office had gone still even the ever uptight goblins took this opportunity to pause in the wake the Charm-Breaker – she never spoke and never needed to have to; just a cutting icy look from her and one would beg to do her bidding. Fleur had entered pulling an errant tendril of her mane and slipped it into her haphazard bun. Casually she acknowledged her officemates - goblin and human alike - with a cant of her head soon coupled with a softly uttered, "_Bonjour,"_ then slid into her private enclave.

"…I would _turncoat_ for just one night of _that_."

Day in and day out, the Frenchwoman walked into Gringotts Bank doing her job – a thankless one that she was bequeathed with when her ex-fiancee left. Bill had returned to his roots exercising his maleness in tomb raiding.

Fleur's prowess in charms and charm-breaking had grown by leaps and bounds, but there could only be so much one _can_ do for a place that's been highly touted as _The Safest Place in the Wizarding World. Except for Hogwarts._

Her office was every bit as pristine as the most flawless gem. Or close to. Contemporary in shades of White-Gold and Pewter it was plain to see how _much_ Fleur enjoyed the finery of her creature comforts, especially that of the Muggle world. Granted you'd've still found a few floating candelabra, busying dusters and stirred coffee, she was a woman that walked the fine line of Magic and Normality, marrying both cultures easily.

Even before the door closed completely, the Veela had whisked her wand from the confines of her poncho-cloak that had pooled at her feet. Taut in her grip, Fleur had it pointed to the backrest of her office-seat which had spun about simultaneously.

"You've been busy."

Fleur arched a silvery brow, pulling her black rimmed 1960s-esque glasses from the perch of her nose and lobbing it aside. "Does it bother you?"

"Yes.", diminutively answered the intruder. "Achingly so."

"Why," The Veela enchantress lowered her wand, curious now with what the young woman was about to say.

Intrigued, Fleur watched. The younger female dipped her head slanted with shyness. Her dirty blonde hair was retro-fitted as a star from those Muggle movies of the 1930s – 1940s, flowing loose curls. Fleur decided she loved the look. In delicate fashion, the girl rose from the Veela's leather backed seat. Smartly dressed in knee high socks, the navy sweatshirt she sported was emblazoned with her house symbol – Fleur found the irony funny. Finally, she polished off her attire with a deep midnight blue pleated skirt.

Pressing her wears with the flat of her hands, the girl duly replied, "Because _this,_" the young witch motioned around with a delicate wave of her hand, "Takes you away from me."

The Veela made her way closer, inevitably reaching her desk. Her thighs pressed against the cold steel as she leaned forth, using her hands as props while she spoke,

"And just who are you to dictate what's best for _moi_…?"

The girl met Fleur half way with only the desk separating them. She leaned towards her and softly said, "Someone that's loved you all her life and who has missed waking in your arms after those thunderstorms."

"Iz _that_ all, you came here _just_ to tell me that?"

"Isn't it enough," countered the younger.

Fleur narrowed her gaze intensely observing the youth's deep hazel eyes. _There_. The girl's gaze wandered left for just a split second. The elder pulled back while as the younger woman blinked the panic set in. _How the hell does she do that?_

_Something had not been right. Something…else, _thought Fleur. She realized what it was and that the young woman's visit was more than just coincidence. The Veela pivoted about all of the sudden and determinedly crosses the expanse of her lavish office, her wand nestled snugly at her hip.

"Where are you going…?"

"To work," she eyed the young woman carefully – knowing her knack of _manufacturing_ trouble, Fleur had to be on her feet. "I'll deal with you later," the threat went unfinished. The French woman though paused at the door and glanced backward, "Ravenclaw house…?"

The youngling crossed her arms over her chest and wrinkled her nose, "It's where they sorted me."

"You'll make the boys go mad," smirked Fleur.

She laughed, "Please, my talents lay elsewhere…and besides…Not as mad when you were there."

"Ahh, _zat_ was my evil twin."

"Then the harlot made a name for herself, non? What did you do?" mocked the young teen.

"I killed her for her treachery." Fleur winked, "Go back to school, mama will have my hide if anything happenz to you."

The transfer student watched her sister take her leave. Gabrielle she did what she needed to do and knows she'll be paying for the ramifications…later; IF Fleur could catch her. But Gabrielle came here for more than just. The fourteen year old was so tied to her sister, she could feel the elder DeLacour succumbing. Fleur hadn't looked well. Not by Veela standards – she pushed that out of her mind for now. Casting her eyes towards Fleur's fireplace Gabrielle wandered over and gave her now brandished wand, a slight flick then swish. It roared to life.

"She's coming."

"_you were supposed to stall her!"_

"blah blah blah, I did what I could!"

"_but…?"_

Gabrielle grinned Cheshire-like then shrugged, "Obviously, it didn't work."

"_Watch it girly, you haven't won the bullocking bet."_

She waved her off. "_yet_…And you had best get going _ma soeur _ doesn't know how to play fair."

- - - -

Pulling herself from the shadows was like trying to heft oneself from a pool, with your clothes still on you. Barely even a breath was managed before Fleur found herself countering an offensive spell. She had finally broken from her dark-bindings and stumbled forth.

"_Cielo lumina!"_

Fleur thought she heard a woman's voice curse out loud but couldn't pinpoint the source; the intensity of her spell-casting exploded into a brilliant – blinding light, affecting all else, sans herself. The Veela had shaded her orbs from the possible backlash.

"…you fugging_ slag!"_

_Got you._

But the walls magnified echoes ten-fold throwing yet another difficulty in her attempts to contain the intrusion, but it was a human's voice; the one aiding and abetting these _things_ and this _witch_ was hiding. All about her, the Veela felt the onset of blackness swarming. It only alerted Fleur that there was a hole in her enchantment.

That…angered the proud French Witch. Her enchantments were nigh unbreakable. _Were_, at least. This meant that this was a predetermined assault.

The smattering of shadows popped up from the gaping crevice…gremlins poured in and blindsided knocking Fleur onto her back, taking the wind from her. After getting over her momentary displacement, the Veela rolled onto her side breathing in as much air as she could to feed her deprived lungs.

Fleur needed to disrupt the source. At any given time, the invading sorceress' vision would return to normal. And these creatures would have their _general_ back. With little more than a flick of her wrist, the Veela began orchestrating her symphony. She sealed the wound caused to her enchantment locking in the remaining weevils before concentrating on the main aria.

"_Vox Et Praeterea Nihil!"_

Then…

There was a deafening pulse. A small, nearly indiscernible ringing in her ears erupted and was unforgivably incessant. The screeching yowls of those _things_ became muffled despite a plethora of them spilling from the broken seal. Aside from that everything had gone deathly still – almost everything. The spell would last no more than a half hour; it took an enormous amount of concentration to uphold the enchantment. Rising to her feet, the French Witch heard a faint noise – a slew of whining complaints in the thickest English accent she's ever heard booming from her left.

Fleur whirled about just in time to witness a stumbling form from behind a quagmire of rocks. The body-shape was fit despite being slim.

_Easier to break_.

Her eyes came into focus, realizing too little too late that everything except her, was seemingly on mute. The punked out Witch felt her body physically slam into the wall…or ground. Nymphadora Tonks couldn't which way was up anymore. Her legs gave. But she elicited a choked gasp of surprise; she felt herself straddling someone's….thigh? Wincing, her chameleonesque eyes blinked in rapid fire succession. Tonks' head was pinned back by a forearm, while the deepest pools of ice blue angrily peered at her.

Tonks' predominant thought was that this was the most erotic positioning she'd ever been in and most importantly…the most frightening; she didn't DARE move. The friction alone caused undue tension.

Fleur pressed herself against the intruder a bit more, pinning her and sharing the same air-space. She knew this face. Bill would speak about his friends almost nightly and described their antics, their look, and their persona. The Veela flashed a snide smile, but all the while her head had been spinning from the massive spell casting and maneuvering she had just done.

"Deletrius_…"_

The voice was smooth as silk and coated with venom, all about scores of _things_ were buried into the dank oblivion that shadows can only provide. Tonks managed to pry her eyes from Fleur's burrowing ones.

"Could you PLEASE tell 'er t'git off," gasped the pink haired woman.

But the Veela never relented.

"Ms DeLacour. I suggest you do as Tonks pleads for." The Frenchwoman turned her attentions towards the newest intruder. A wand of pure Onyx was pointed at the gentle slope of her neck; the French Witch could have sworn she felt the tip feather against her flesh and feel the man's presence, shudder in lustful delight.

"Please," he added as an after thought.

Sweeping her eyes from Tonks to Serevus Snape, Fleur let loose a tired breath, she pushed from her prey, eyeing Tonks as she sped off – It amused the Veela. Plumes of smoke puffed into view. More people, among was her sister…and Bill Weasley. Both affording their best 'feigning ignorance' smiles.

"If thiz was a party, why was I not invited…?", remarked Fleur.

"Oh but you were Ms DeLacour. If you hadn't noticed…_You_ were the guest of honor," Snape had oozed.

Letting loose a breath sent a few strands of her hair, fluttering from her hooded gaze, "Why are you here."

"Because…," began the snake tongued man, "I have a proposition, that you have no true right to refuse."

* * *

_**Later in the week…**_

It was a habit that she couldn't break from, but then again Hermione had always been programmed to wake before her alarm clock had sounded. In fact for her, the latest she's ever slept in would be over the weekends…by her standards. Anything later than eight-thirty was a day wasted.

Thankfully since becoming Prefect, then Head Girl she had adopted certain privileges that came along with being titled. Of the most important had been getting her own room. But it also heralded a downside; Hermione had become isolated from her fellow Griffyndors. And now with OWLS looming in the horizon, the Muggle Born had been seen few and far between.

Pulling herself from the comforting warmth of her beddings, the Muggle trundled her way towards her vanity bureau. Or what Hermione referred to as her, _truth mirror_. The truth of it was, if she still felt horrible like this, she must look just _as_ bad off if not worse. Sleep still closely clung to the Witch, so in ginger movements the Muggle Born began to work them awake. Slipping her fingers through her ecstatic morning hair, Hermione loosed a guttural groan of displeasure.

"Positively…_lovely,_" her fingers had met with pockets of tangles, "Have to remember 'Mione m'girl, we can't us all be perfect like those bloody tele folk," she chuckled then, and pulled her fingers free convincing herself that there are no _real_ people that flawless.

Real people _have _to work for it.

Sitting at her _truth mirror_, she dourly chuckled, "And I'm as real as they get."

Taking up a brush Hermione began to work through the mass that was her ungodly hair, her reflection loved to mock her. The eyes that looked back were darkly rimmed, indicative of all those late nights at the library, her lips were constantly chaffed – a sign of negligence to her dietary staple. And her skin…Well, _God Save the Queen, _her skin was the only _look_ that she took pride in. Hermione's intellect was a given. The Head Girl was a child of the outdoors making her flesh a deep golden tinge off-setting her rather gaunt looking countenance. Her brushing slowed as a deep crinkle set between her brows.

The brightest Witch of her time sat there contemplating on whether or not to let the tears fall. In a huff she stood. In a huff she decided.

"Stupid _girl._ Does it matter? You're the _only_ one making mountains out of dung hills. Ron loves you just as is."

_Are you sure?_

Incessant thoughts of the Great Hall _incident _the night before danced into her thoughts…For the first time in their relationship she began to doubt. Hermione's eyes slipped towards Crookshanks. The pig like cat lay sprawled in content upon the cool stone floor of her dormitory, quietly she knelt beckoning him with a waggle of her fingers. Lazily, he gave her a blank stare before languidly stretching and rolling over to forego her call.

Hermione shook her head, "And that…as they say, is _that._"

Suddenly her door had swung opened, giving wide birth to anyone on the outside, to look in. Aghast she jumped up, as her arms barely managed to fly up to protect her otherwise topless form, "RONALD! HARRY!"

"She's uh…Hermione, your…"

"Oh, _crikey…_"

"ti-t.-t…er…I mean…b-br..."

"…D'ja brush y'hair?"

"For crying out _loud –_ Yes I did, is that _all_ you noticed!"

"It's kind of 'ard _not_ t'notice your hair, lo-."

She glared. He grinned.

"And the word's _Breasts_, Harry, of_ which_ I have two. Now if you PLEASE!" flushed beet, the Muggle summoned her wand to her hand and in ordered fashion swished the door shut then summoned a bedsheet to wrap about her form. The two Quidditch players winced. Ron, toying with his ear lobe took a tentative step forward.

"Normally…"

"_Normally?_ You two are _never_ up this early," sniped Hermione.

Ron began to turn is signature lobster color, though not because of Hermione's lack of modesty. "Get off it! I'm your boyfriend, I reserve the right t'barge in on you any time I so please."

Harry affixed his glasses securely on the bridge of his nose picked up the sudden shift. "What he means is…We thought we'd surprise you. Been sometime since we'd have breakfast together."

Hermione shifted her eyes repentantly from Ron's own, "I'm sorry…just had a rough go at it this morning."

Ron shrugged and made his way towards the muggle's yet unmade bed, lazily he flopped onto the support and yawned out, "Yah, could see that, what with all the bare backing and that HAIR. You've GOT t'get that cut up some. Straighten it…y'know, like…like…"

Hermione had quietly returned to her vanity and continued to primp herself, she glanced towards her lover from the reflection he cast in her mirror, "….Like Parvati…" she quietly murmured in askance.

Harry had diverted his gaze towards the window. Hoping to find something of interest other than his loafers.

"Mm, yeah. Sum'mat." He absently replied as he gazed towards the ceiling.

Setting her brush down Hermione nodded faintly; the Muggle wandered towards Ron, "Give me a little, I'm almost done." She leaned forward, but Ron turned his head away.

"Dragon's breath, 'Mione."

Her jaw tensed, for some reason that little rejection winded her. The muggle would _not_ show it. "You give yourself airs, Weasley. Get off my bed," and snatched her night shirt from under the pillow Ron laid upon.

He laughed heartily, "Gods, you're more'n touchy!" The door to the restroom slammed shut. He blinked and loudly called, "Awright, we'll be out in th' courtyard." Looking towards Harry Ron shrugged continuing, "Must be that time of month."

Harry bobbed his head reluctantly, "Must be."

But then a resounding knock on Hermione's door echoed just as she eased herself from the confines of the private restroom (another privilege). Doing up her tie she looked questioningly towards Harry and Ron. "It's opened."

For a second time, the massive oaken door swung unlocked. Revealing a still PJ wearing wizard beading with sweat.

"Should've known you lot would be in 'ere as well, make's it alla more easier."

Hermione stepped forth, "Neville? What's wrong..?"

"…we 'ave a visitor."

"not uncommon Professor's do a lot of those surprise inspections," shrugged Ron.

"…It's not an inspection, a'least I don't think. "

"Then what," urged Harry.

"An' well..."

Fed up with waiting on Neville Longbottom's oft naught nonsensical babble, Hermione brushed past the boys, "Rubbish. No one can apparate in without express knowledge of where the common rooms are – nor without consent from either Head's of the house, OR the respective House Professors."

"'At's jus' it 'ermione," began a very flustered Neville. "Y'see, 'cause the fire was ragin' in the common room an' th'girl's dorm, th'only other place _she_ found was safe an' not in use was…ours. So…she ah, said anyway."

"_She?_"

"So you spoke to her?"

Neville, rubbed the back of his neck, giving a half shrugged, "She, ah, did all the talking before leavin' th'room, we were a mite…well…_pleasantly shocked._"

"Common room," prompted Hermione.

He nodded, motioning out her door. Resuming her resolute trek with Harry and Ron in tow, the Head Girl eased her way towards the common room. Where it seemed the rest of the house had stirred awake. The was an amazing feat in itself… as it was only six-thirty in the morning.

"Please move…_pardon me_, Head Girl!" Ordered Hermione, just peripherally she saw the caramel skinned Patil, seated off on an ottoman, harboring a nervous twitch. Parvati's eyes had been rooted on one source.

Oh's and Ah's floated around amongst bodies jockeying for position.

Finally reaching the centrifugal point, the Muggle loosed the stress that had built up. Least of which this incident may end up biting her rump. She was charged with the upkeep of the Griffyndor security.

"Whoever the hell you _think_ you are…," her throat constricted and Hermione narrowed her gaze, "_…You._"

There was nothing remotely spectacular in what the intruder was doing. In fact, it was rather normal. The woman stood there with her back turned to the developed crowd, wiping off the soot that no doubt clung to her flawless features as they were echoed in a mirror that hung precariously over the roaring fireplace. The woman's hair was gathered into a silver pony-tail that shimmered with every god given graceful movement she made.

Fleur had slowly turned to regard the young woman that just addressed her, the only person that truly did. Even if venom was laced behind within the wordsmithing, she welcomed the opportunity to speak with someone . Those eyes burned. She knew that this muggle had always harbored ill will; but what astonished the Veela was despite how overly dominant Hermione Granger had seemed in this situation towards her…the aura surrounding the teen was infinitely…_lifeless. _The empathic Witch moved towards Hermione, uncaring of the eyes that undressed her. Boys, will be boys as _some_ of these girls will be…just as.

"Oui. _Me._," she stated with a murmur, accompanied with an ever slight cant of her head.

Such a simple reply encompassed everything that Fleur DeLacour ever was. Independent, assured, cocky…_Sexually desirable. _

Everything Hermione was not…And only wanted to be…stood now, not more than a few feet in front of her.

She never thought she could dislike Fleur any worse than she already had.

* * *

_a/n: Too long, but I swear it's going somewhere. And yes, I know Gabrielle's a whole lot more younger than how I portray her here. But…artistic discretion, ne?_

_L - Vox Et Praeterea Nihil! (voice and nothing more)_

_L – Cielo Lumina (heaven's light)_


	3. Chapter 3

"_I…hate the rain and sunny whether.._

_And I.._

_Hate everything about you…"_

_**Ugly Kid Joe**_

_**Three.**_

"You're the bloody Head Girl for crying out loud Granger, do what you're good for and nag her out of here."

The insipid request came out of lips that she'd have never expected. Hermione swept her eyes over the faces of Griffyndors, briefly meeting Ginny's tired gaze. As if reading the Muggle's mind, the red haired Quidditch woman shook her head and flicked her eyes towards Parvati. It seems that nervous twitch wasn't so much nervous as it was _envious_.

A subtle hint of Jasmine mixed with the air. It lingered all about Hermione even before she felt her quiet intensity engulf her from behind. Fleur gently rested her hand over Hermione's own; unaware that that simplistic need of the Veela's to touch someone else caused a chain reaction within the shorter female.

The French Witch directed her silver pools towards Parvati.

"I would appreciate you look at me when you speak _about…_or _to_ me – I like to look into the eyes of my assailant" Fleur intoned with her deep contralto; lapping at the plump of her lower lip she added, "But above all, do _not_ create any unnecessary headaches for both _my_ Heads of House. Zey have enough to deal with without catering to petty whims."

Akin to matches played at Wimbledon, scores of eyes bounced between the volleys that each player set forth.

Gritting her teeth Parvati grabbed Lavender's wrist, the latter visibly winced before begrudgingly following the former out of the common room. Or at least…out of view.

Hermione was faintly conscious of the Frenchwoman's hand; it lingered over hers far longer than it should have – but it was giving the Muggle an assurance of support and was astoundingly…_familiar_ with its confounded warmth. A warmth that overrode her logic because her body immediately caved to the touch. Her body needed that touch.

_Something she'd been lacking._

But her upper, more defined state of mind regained its battle for reason.

Fleur's supple flesh on hers was an odd feeling that sent waves of tingles along her arm; Hermione dismissed the them as nothing more than an underlying need to recoil from the Veela…

_That's got to be it; Fleur DeLacour equals nemesis_.

But as the Silver tongued enchantress eased away…the contact was broken; Hermione had begun to absently trace idle patterns of where the French woman's hand had been and frowned a touch as the feel of her own warmth was…discomforting.

"M'sieur Weasley," beckoned Fleur, the soft trill brought Hermione out of her stupor. Her eyes wandered towards the older woman intently watching.

As he always did, the red haired pup fell in line, puffing up proudly and oh so eager to serve her; she glanced about knowing that all would have been under her wiles in just mere minutes, or show signs of immense jealousy. There were those though with wills of stark iron, they were so few and far between; but they were the ones that her kind pursued, risking everything to bathe in that balance of liberation and completion that only _that_ companion could bring.

Fleur regarded the boy before her and solemnly smiled, "Make sure ze little onez are ready for breakfast…and please…some crowd control? Comprenz?"

With a toothy grin Ron readily agreed, barely able to formulate even one coherent word. Hermione surmised that at this point, he couldn't remember his name. Fleur took control of the room in little more than just a whispered breath, whether they wanted knew it or not, the beguiling woman enchanted them all.

Hesitantly, the crowd finally disbursed at the urging of Head Boy Weasley (who in faithful fashion, glanced to Fleur to get her stamp of approval). Hermione inwardly tousled with how to balance the sensation of gratefulness for the intervention with Parvati and annoyance she had for Fleur just because the Veela was the epitome of perfection and whether she knew it or not, had rubbed it into Hermione – the mere mortal – with every gesture and musical word she spewed. The Muggle Born stymied the built frustration as much as she could. Hermione could, with effort, be as every bit endearing as the Frenchwoman.

"Is there anything you'd have me do as well…"

Fleur lobbed a curious and pleasantly surprised look towards the Muggle. "A question I was not expecting from you, m'elle Granger."

"…What? Am I that transparent that you expected otherwise from me? I know how to be civil you know…," she bit her tongue all too late. Hermione silently chided herself as her restraint in one fell swoop ebbed into Never-Never land.

"Touché," replied the Veela.

Undoing the clasp of her robe, Fleur freed herself from the constraints and her thoughts became a messy stew of truncated orders and images. Least of which was the job she was sent here to do, her mind should have been on that. But, more important things needled their way with stubborn abandon. Why was she despised so?

She found it difficult to swallow Hermione's lingering dislike, or have those concentrated eyes of the Muggle dissect every movement Fleur had done. It was as if the Veela had to impress Hermione in some fashion to be granted just _one_ of those tender smiles from the younger woman's softly blushed lips; but no, only the muggle's tried and true friends were awarded that…

_Her what?_

The three-quarter Veela rubbed the bridge of her nose in agitation. Her experiences of late have finally gotten to her. As she turned about Fleur realized, the room had become utterly vacant. Save for the soft pop and crackle of the fireplace, they were the only two souls alive there.

Inescapably, their eyes met. Dogged as their nature was something had sparked, they were gauging one another; pulling and feeding from the strength that the other willed. It had become a dance of intimate proportions. Hermione felt Fleur's gaze peel back every layer of insecurity she had of herself, searching…just as _she_ was watching Fleur watch her. The Veela was so complex to read, but too remarkable to not _try_ to understand. Hermione had always been drawn to puzzles after all. The French witch was getting too close, looking too hard. _What does she see? _

The firelight danced over Fleur's fair skin caressing every contour from the woman's neck to the gentle way the corners of her lips gave a fleeting, but knowing smile; the woman's brow was unmarred by wrinkles brought on by thinking too much, unlike Hermione's own. The Veela had a reputation for being the most beautiful of creatures in the wizarding world.

Hermione knew, that they couldn't've held a candle to Fleur… a thought she would never express in front of the Veela.

The Head Girl managed to look away letting loose her breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. Hermione had all but suffocated under the Veela's scrutinizing yet surprisingly tender eyes.

Winded, Fleur had been glad to find her release she didn't know what to make of the Muggle, nor was she in a hurry to find out why she had been affected by just a mere…happenstance…glance. Casually…she lowered her eyes; above all, composure had to be maintained.

Trailing her fingers over the bric-a-brac that littered the room Fleur began to busy herself, acquainting with her new surroundings and shoving what had just happened, far from her mind.

The Veela furrowed her brows at the gritty feel of dirt clinging to her digits. The house elves hadn't been doing their duty apparently. She wondered why…but an answer was provided; Fleur's eyes slanted towards a roughshod piece of clothing left upon the top of one bookshelf it…_looked_ like a hat, with two awkward holes, one farther back than the other. But in little more than a blink, the article was ripped from her laxed grip. Hermione stood there - her face pink as she was gripping the tatty rag. She haphazardly tucked it under her ashen sweater top.

Fleur couldn't comprehend the look that coursed Hermione's features; it was mixed with emotion, raw and unyielding anger, or was it embarrassment? Suddenly…

"What kind of cockamamie bull_shit_ is this anyway?" Hermione heard herself fuming aloud the embarrassment of her shoddy knit-work sent her spiraling. Fleur now had fuel for an assault on how imperfect she is.

"How did you get in, _why_ are you here?", she continued blindly, wringing the piece of cloth. "_Why_ in the world did you say '_my Heads of House'?_ What's happened to Professor McGonagall?"

Crossing her arms over the full of her chest, the elder woman good-naturedly waited till Hermione finished.

When the Muggle didn't receive a reply, she prompted impatiently, "Well?"

"Je suis désolé …iz it my turn to speak?"

The younger woman gave a mock 'o' look, "Is that where I'm supposed to laugh? Because it hardly registered a chuckle."

"Some people 'ave no sense of humor."

"While others make no sense at all," injected Hermione, cushioning the venom in her spite with, "Where do _you_ fit in…What _sense_ do you make in this place, or are you the type that's blissfully happy in your perfect world while we normals struggle to meet your expectations."

The dregs of Hermione's anger were deeply rooted and now…Fleur felt the backlash. She remained near the fireplace, gingerly using a fire poker stoking the dying flames within the pit. The ash flew up at intermittent speeds; they died in succession as did the Veela's hope to ease the long standing strain between her and the Muggle.

Something changed in Fleur it wasn't so much her body movements as much as the downturn of the corner of her lips. There was no warmth of mirth on them, Hermione felt guilty for lashing out at Fleur to alleviate the ire that had been fostered for a while and even before the Silver Haired enchantress returned to Hogwarts. But there was still no stifling the annoyance and frustration that only Fleur could bring out in Hermione.

"That…I was out of line…I…I'm sorry…I've just--"

"No. No you're not. Vous êtes un menteur. "

The remark was soft, yet so palpable that the Muggle felt it shatter the air they both breathed.

"Did…did you just call me…"

"A liar."

The Head Girl couldn't believe her ears and the ever patented crease that only Hermione Granger could conjure up, now appeared between her brows.

"How…how dare you! I'm apologizing for how", Placing a hand upon her chest the younger woman tried to continue her tirade, "Jesus, forget it…Are you that inhumane that you feel the need to exert your fake superiority on me?"

Her throat rippled with a sour taste of a laugh beginning to form – amazingly, she stifled it. Fleur lifted her gaze and swore she saw Hermione visibly and nervously swallow. Her eyes must have shifted to another unearthly color or fangs must have sprouted… something, because it caused the youth to recoil.

"Are you not the smartest with in Hogwarts, fille?" Fleur's voice was not her own, it was clipped, guttural.

Hermione's eyes must have conveyed her ignorance, because before long, Fleur shot back. She had replaced the steel poker back into its cradle. The sound of metal grinding against metal was unsympathetic, and tore the serenity of the room to pieces. The Frenchwoman began to advance towards the still rooted Muggle Witch.

"I am three quarters Veela; my _humanity _m'lle Granger, iz diluted. _Veela_ are empathic creaturez – even with what little blood I have in me I can feel everything you are feeling and when your feelingz are, 'ow you say, vigoureux_…strong…_Zey scream louder in my 'ead." Fleur's concentration crumbled as her brain felt as if it just imploded; as did her English but gallantly she continued. Civility be damned.

"Because what you are feeling right now towards me, contradict ze words you 'ave spoken…" Fleur said pointedly, "I know 'ow you feel about me--"

"—I _don't_ like you, everyone knows! I have been nothing but upfront about that and I don't have to have your bloody power to know you feel the same way about me." charged Hermione who hadn't let Fleur continue to get any word in edgewise,

"But what I am _not_ Ms DeLacour, nor will I accept is being labeled a _liar_. Especially from the likes of you."

Both women hadn't realized that through their seeming repulsion of one another, they had come within a breath apart, that jasmine scent was overwhelming the shorter female. Hermione's pulse had gone erratic and she began to feel light headed as she was staring straight into the welcoming Silver pools of the Veela's eyes.

_God…don't look…don't…let me…_

They were eyes that the Muggle teen desperately tried to avoid for the remainder of the morning. How could _one_ being cause so much emotional upheaval in such little time.

"And I," Fleur's breath was heated, blanketing Hermione in cascading waves "…I will not tolerate your angst – you 'ave an over abundance, non? Use zat energy for other thingz. Because it will all be wasted on me."

Hermione gawked, but Fleur pressed on, "So zen, we 'ave a dilemma – 'Ow will I work with someone I don't trust--"

"Hold on," interjected Hermione, "On what world do you reside on that we…_you and I_…will have to work together, least of all trust one another?"

Fleur gave a slight lift of a shoulder, letting a veil of her bangs sliver forth obscuring her eyes for a beat. It was enough to break the hold that it had over the Muggle. Unaware, Fleur had turned about summoning her cloak to her as she decided that her welcome was worn.

"The world which I am the Head of Gryffindor House while Professor McGonagall is on leave. That, ma chere…would be thiz world," Fleur stalked towards the entryway before glancing over her shoulder, "…You are also responsible for the security of Gryffindor non?"

Hermione's lips had thinned. The Charms mistress smirked, as her silvery brow had lifted in jest. It was all the answer she needed.

"We have much to discuss about your…_Charming_ skillz…" Fleur paused in thought, "Both counts, one iz just barely passable, no?"

"Do you think this is through between us?"

Fleur chuckled and sighed, Hermione's ire grew.

"I thought you didn't like me."

"Not even _close_ to it."

Slowly, the French Maiden slid her gaze upon the Muggle Born, her eyes listed closed for just a second before her lips quirked and the smooth contralto tone purred outward,

"Zen…stop trying to keep me 'ere," remarked Fleur, nary a smile clung to her lips, nor her prose…only the quiet intensity, "au revoir m'lle Granger, I 'ave business to care for – I leave ze 'ouse in your otherwise, capable 'ands..."

The Veela had slipped through the portal leaving the Common Room; not soon after Hermione had grabbed a throw pillow and hurtled it towards the now closed gateway.

Out of nowhere – or so it seemed - the student body of the House had poured from every orifice of the room; alive with activity they were all gussied up in their regulation school attire. Hermione's brows knit. She glanced about feeling a multiplicity of eyes pinioning her. Ginny had made her way towards her friend stopping just behind her. It was tentative at best but as she always customarily did, the red headed 16 year old began to pet the back of Hermione's head.

"That was…"

"Horrific…a blasted _nightmare_, is what." She took a breath, "coming in here shoving her god awful face at me…." the muggle became quiet, deep in thought – Ginny scrutinized her features and smirked. If only Hermione was able to see herself , right now.

It was a face of mixed serenity. Hermione's eyes were alight, brighter than they had been previously. Granted, the Muggle's eyes had been just as effervescent when she and Ron finally got together, but this…this, her friend couldn't place. Ginny Weasley could have sworn…somewhere, seeded deep inside Hermione had enjoyed the tit for tat exchange much more than she let on. And…

"Did you know she has a mole just under her right eye," The Muggle softly stated, then snapped out of her reverie to add in a more defiant tone, "God I hope it's cancerous," finally remarked Hermione.

The red head, regarded her friend quietly giving a soft laugh, "You don't mean that."

Hermione huffed then whirled about, "Of course I do. She was _absolutely_ horrid. Come on Gin – _you_ must have seen what--"

Her friend nodded, "Mm yes, in fact, I saw a _whole_ lot."

The muggle witch stared at her friend curiously. But her attentions were soon drawn away as Hermione was finally fed up with the odd glances, "Don't you people have classes to go to?"

A wave of protests erupted, but inevitably the filed out to greet the day.

Ginny arrested the slightly shorter female by the shoulders, "Easy girly – The lot of us has yet to have breakfast--"

In agreeable fashion, Hermione's belly groaned.

"And by the sounds of it, thanks to your little run in with," the auburn trussed teen seemed as if she was ready to retch, but in grand Weasley fashion she summoned a grotesque, choked purr from the back of her throat, "Phlghuer," at which Hermione shoved her, "you're suffering as well. Off with you, get your things – I'll be here."

Ginny watched the wound up Muggle bound up to the secluded wing for the Head Boy and Girl's dorms. She gave her head a thoughtful shake before letting herself flop carelessly onto one of the many love seats that lined the Common Room.

Firm hands gently gripped her about her shoulders before feeling the thick digits begin to admonish the knotted muscles that developed.

"Don't touch me."

"Your body says otherwise," teased Harry. Her body acquiesced. The icon of Gryffindor smiled and continued; he had missed this. "So…what do you think?"

"Of?"

"You know. You and I and everyone that was here saw."

"They like to fight."

"C'mon Gin, I know you…you thought the same thing I thought…"

That Hermione and Fleur had an intense chemistry and how difficult it was for them to resist gravitating towards the other, to not look at each other; the common building blocks of a budding relationship. That's how it _always_ begins – whether it ends or not depends on how willing both people are to work at it. Ah yes, she knew exactly what Harry was speaking of. But Ginny wouldn't admit it. To admit means…she and Harry still had that bond. That she still…_No._

It was easier to be angry. Safer. She didn't have to constantly hurt.

Ginny slapped his hands away and rose from the couch. The girl glared at him, "No...NO. You _knew_ me, Harry. You screwed that up when you abandoned me."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, "I wasn't ready," half expecting the explanation was enough.

"And you think you are now," she challenged. She then glanced towards the northern spiraled stairway hearing Hermione make her way from her room.

"You know…I could have any girl I wanted to," the jealous and angry demon that Harry had always had in him, breathed once more.

Ginny felt it, "Yes. I'm sure you could. But…" she paused glancing over to him, "They all aren't _me_."

"I won't stop trying."

"I'd think there was something wrong with you, if you did."

Hermione cleared her throat garnering both parties' attention, "…if this is a bad time…" the muggle shifted her gaze from one to the other, it was in hindsight a stupid question. Ginny had negated that though as she tucked into her robes and took Hermione by the arm.

"Hardly. Besides…You promised I could borrow your notes from last term for Flitwick's class, yeah?"

"By notes, you mean all the exams I'd ever taken for Charms…"

"Did I say that?"

Hermione pursed her lips, "Try to convince me otherwise."

Ginny grinned, "Just the tests that matter, the heavily weighted ones."

"that would be all of them Ginny."

"Well," pondered the teen, "They matter."

The muggle born lobbed a look towards Harry, who trailed not too far behind as they began to cross the immense expanse of the Common Room, "Do you believe her..?"

He shrugged in a non-committal fashion, "I've made it a rule to pick and choose what to believe when it comes to dealing with a Weasley."

Ginny would have liked to have socked the Boy Wonder at that point but only managed a steely eyed glare. Harry didn't realize what he said till…

"Alohomora," the great entryway towards the Gryffindor common room groaned opened and Hermione lead the way. She paused shortly, her hand braced against the frame of the doorway, "That's a funny thing to say, isn't it…? If one can't begin to believe or trust their friends…what else left is there?"

The muggle then glanced backward to the pair, "It's a good thing…I trust you all."

- - - -

_Late fall – History of Muggles class (boring)_

_you've been my only confidant, you've even taken that special place reserved for her – my best friend. you're not just my diary._

_I'm in class, apparently. there's a debate going on…not that it's any of my concern. funny thing happened today, the house that I temporarily bunk in just got a new Headmistress. couldn't care less what hapened to McGonagal..(spell check? – who cares) – she was an old hag anyway. bout to keel over if anyone cared to ask me. but they didn't so…_

_but the new one, fleur, she's so…fuckable - scratch that, i mean attractive, we have to be PC - whatever. things may change around here. my friends and I hope so. she put that nosy assed granger in her place. that nosy slag'll get hers soon._

_this place just pisses me off to no end. all these labels that everyone plasters on, it's degrading, no one understand what it's like to be what I am. to think the things I think…fuck the teacher's calling me._

Her dull blue eyes lifted from her personal journal and found that included with the Professor's gaze locked on her, so were her classmates'. _Sheep_. Gently she placed her quill lengthwise upon her extravagantly aged desktop, while her hands moved to cover the pages of her diary from prying eyes. Everyone in this damned school always find something to pry about.

"'Er upper lip's sweating!"

On queue, the heckles began and the sick part of it was, her own housemates were the very ones that started the trouble.

"shut th'ell up Finnegan! we can't all us 'ear her stutter th'answer!"

"Ron, that's not funny!"

A whooping gale of laughter erupted. The professor had suddenly gotten a little busy with a run-about courier from another class to deal with the raucous. She wanted to fume, she wanted to rage, but…

"So this is what the mighty Gryffindors are all about? Just a bunch of bullies you are…far worse than Slytherin, I think."

The girl was just that, just a younger teen, standing up to her elders her words brought a shocked silence to the room. Though, most would argue it must have either been what she said or…her looks. No one could deny the resemblance either.

Gabrielle folded her arms over her chest, grinning madly at the attention she'd just garnered. She had felt sorry for that one Gryffindor girl. A plain Jane that looked utterly…disconnected from reality. She continued her distraction,

"In fact," the young French native began, "I've already started a pool for your Quidditch match against Slytherin. And the odds are," she shrugged and somberly said, "…not looking in your favor, I'm afraid – Bets will be taken in the Great Hall during lunch," she smiled serenely.

Pivoting about, the fair-skinned youth offered a supportive cant of her head in acknowledgment towards the lonely Gryffindor female. Then, she took up the parchment she had been sent to round up signatures for. Within a blink of an eye, Gabrielle DeLacour's infamy, was born.

The Professor resumed his control over the class once young DeLacour took her leave. Not that he ever had control of the class to begin with. He had to admit helped that the mixed bag of 7th year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors had been muted dumb by the magnetic Ravenclaw.

"There will be _no_ gambling permitted on school grounds, miss DeLacour will would do well to keep that in mind, as should you all," elicited the Professor, "Now…where were we..." he glanced over his bifocals and pinioned his target.

A rumble of dissention was birthed but they had all settled in for the long haul.

"ah yes again the question was for you Ms. Brown – Tell us why you think most Muggle Teens of the late 90s expressed such rage in their student body and resorted to horrific acts of random violence in their schools…Was it anger? Depression?"

Lavender's eyes trailed the retreating French girl for as long as she was in view. But as Gabrielle disappeared, the partially extroverted Gryffindor regarded the elderly Professor. She swept her eyes from him then towards the rest of her classmates. They all had bored expressions plastered on their faces, save for Hermione Granger…ever wide eyed and bushy tailed, completely dumbed to what's been going on right under her nose…And Parvati…her best friend, the one she loved in secret was too busy trying to get in good with the upper echelon of school society and getting there through another woman's man, if you can call Ron Weasley that at all…He was a bastard in his own right…and pity-me Harry Potter, too popular to know what to do with himself, always needing to play up to that stupid White Knight complex.

The pallid teen witch gripped her journal's hewn edges as her eyes once more regarded the Professor. Nicknamed the Caterpillar by his students, just because of those ridiculously out of control eyebrows that were seemingly connected; they writhed insidiously with every waggle of he did. He was new, so Lavender forgave his repulsive look not to mention his idiocy in regards to student rules. Unspoken as they were, it was understood that:

_a – You do not cross the Slytherin elite, unless you're the damned 3._

_b – As in the muggle world, Don't Ask, Don't Tell…just suffer._

_c – Mixing cliques is a hazard_

_d – And never…EVER call on an outcast to answer in class. It's detrimental to your health._

Gathering her resolve, whatever was left of it, Lavender replied simply,

"Because they hated everyone and every_thing_."

Dead silence.

The bell sounded the release of the students was a god-send. And none too soon thought Lavender. She quickly rustled her things together, sparing no look-around. Until she heard that familiar Indian accented lilt; the one that had always caused her to weaken at the knees. Lavender would have given her life if the object of her affection so willed it.

"Lav, love…," Parvati draped her arms about her best friend from behind. "I'll be…a little late coming home tonight. Raincheck on that study thing…?"

Lavender shifted her eyes towards Ron, who also had corralled his so-called beloved, no doubt feeding the same bogus line she was getting. She shrugged Parvati off, "Fine. I'll be out myself."

"Oh, who with? Date you're not telling me?"

"Outing with friends, I'm allowed that, aren't I?"

Parvati chuckled musically, "Scandalously delicious! You need to go out, sweetie you've been looking frumpy lately."

Lavender rolled her eyes, "Whatever…" she paused and turned to face the Caramel colored goddess, her voice was concise but audibly clear, "Do us a favor, Parvati – Use protection tonight…"

The Indo-English girl tensed her jaw – garnering as well, the curiosity of most of the room. This brought about a twisted smile over Lavender's lips but then she shrugged good naturedly,

"There's a storm forecasted, after all."

- - -

_**Hours Later…**_

This was a day that was so close to perfection – so very rare for the English countryside that was steeped in a bloodied history. It was the kind of day where even the effervescence of the rolling emerald hills paled to what Mother Nature concocted. The sky was sparingly painted with wisps of cotton-white clouds.

You could see the 'forever' beyond them…

The kind of forever that was filled with hope and a never ending promise for a new day and all its included surprises. And so the charade went on with its normal carnival atmosphere, everyone in a state of blissful happiness was dwelling in their scripted roles.

But not even in a cosmic blink of an eye did someone of a higher power decide to change the script. Then again, perhaps it was all planned…The actors and actresses just needed to play out the drama to the conclusion…

Daylight bled into Nightfall, a murky one that blotted out the diamond studded skyline. Even the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling reflected the solemn nature of the evening. As promised by one student's prophesizing remark…it rained. Buckets of torrential downpour bathed the aged School grounds washing away what debris may have been lingering.

She couldn't vouch for the element's cleansing prowess. Not tonight. Hermione was the dirtiest she'd ever felt about herself in a long while. Her body pressed against the antiquated structure's northern wall for support; her knees begged to give way, she never heeded to the whims of her body's desires. The young Muggle tilted her head towards the onslaught of the biting cold that the rain provided, she was beyond the point of numbness, fully aware that time continued to tic-tock its way towards the next day. The unknown.

Her mouth opened collecting the liquid till she choked and coughed it out. As she did, Hermione's gaze though blurred and irritated from the water, glanced towards her hands. They were pruned, aged to a point of being unrecognizable. She didn't know how long she had been out there but her body decided that it was enough. Hermione felt herself move through the muck and mud, dimly cognizant of her surroundings.

The Witch found herself at Hogwarts' northern courtyard where the majority of the school staff was residing at. It was a requirement that all staff members were to be accessible at all times, should student needs arise.

Hermione's eyes aimlessly searched until she found the corner wing. Just as the Headmaster mentioned in his impromptu assembly-speech that night. There was a soft illumination of light that filtered from a window; it was indicative of someone still awake. As she neared the domicile Hermione stood at the massive door, with only the head of a worn brass Gargoyle-knocker gazing back at her. Despite her listlessness, the Muggle grabbed the enlarged ring…

- - - -

"So, do you like it?"

She stared at the youth from behind her onyx rimmed glasses, "You are purposely avoiding my question, Gabby."

The young woman huffed, "Fine. Bill thought you needed a change, which is why--"

"—He got me fired from Gringotts."

"No. _Reassigned_. I keep telling you, Fleur!", Gabrielle vehemently cried out. Fleur knew how attached her little sister had become to the eldest Weasley. "Don't you like being in the Order?"

She cut into her sister's words with an effective cold look.

"Sorry. But don't you?"

Fleur dodged the question and regarded her sister, "Let me get this straight – He broke my charm, because he was testing me for recruitment purposes. And you helped him…why?"

"Because…" she shyly responded. Fleur curiously looked at her sister and understood almost immediately. It was more than _just_ an attachment.

"_Because…_Is not an answer, ma chere."

"They needed you, and sometimes two Veela are better than one," the youth pulled the bed sheets about her frame, glancing out into the midnight rain filled sky. Nearby the blackened pitch illuminated by a singular stab of lightening. "And he asked me to."

Fleur became livid.

"You shouldn't 'ave to be involved. I 'ave a good mind to send you back."

"Bill trusts me, why can't you?"

"You're my baby sister, I know what's best for you, better than M'sieur Weasley," she sniped irritably.

"Please. Like you have any idea? I'm not eight anymore, Fleur."

The older woman refocused her eyes upon the parchment she had been working on as a wave of nausea blanketed her. Warm hands had suddenly, gratefully appeared from out of nowhere, cupping her face gently. She lifted her strained eyes to look upon Gabrielle's angelic features.

"Look at you," the young DeLacour began softly, "Someone needs to care for you now." She handed her elder sister a chalice of water before threading her fingers through Fleur's immaculate strands and pushing them from her eyes, "You haven't taken the potions Professor Snape's made for you, oui?"

"No."

"Fleur…"

"Stop…I don't need to be lectured, Gabby. I can do my duty for the Order without taking that nonsense."

The enigmatic Veela pushed from her desk, tying her silk robe about her waist. She remained silent for an unnatural amount of time – trying to calm her annoyed nerves. Fleur softly queried, "What's this I 'ear about you…and some bets?"

Gabrielle nervously laughed, "You see…"

It was so minute, one could have missed it. In fact it was amazing that either the sisters had heard it. The knocking was both hesitant but incessant, with weather like they were having it wasn't a wonder – Someone was seeking shelter. Fleur gave a negating glance towards her sibling to not follow before crossing the length of her lavish, temporary domicile.

Fleur slid the slightly rusted over privacy viewer open, but could barely make out the figure's features, but she didn't have to visually confirm who it was. Torrents of emotion made it clear to her. Stepping back, the barefoot woman took hold of the knob, pulling the massive oaken door wide…

- - - -

She had her whole excuse, if needed, pre-planned. But as the door grunted from being opened, Hermione's mind went blank and her lips refused to form words of coherency. There she stood clothed in nothing but what the Muggle could ascertain was a silk, or satin dark colored bathrobe. The French woman never pressed for a reason and only stepped aside bidding her a quiet welcome.

Hermione shakily entered. Everything on her person was soaked through, even her bones began to creak from the wear of the water it seemed. The room was infinitely warmer thanks to a roaring fire place in an adjacent area and smelled incredibly familiar to her.

The wing seemed more like a tucked away French Château nestled in the heart of a rolling valley. The contents within were a mix of old and new worlds. Knick knacks of Ankhs and runes were graced upon bookshelves, along with globes and rolled up spell parchments accented only with deep blues, beiges and sables of what furniture was housed inside.

It was amazingly appropriate considering the woman it sheltered. Off at the corner of her eye, the muggle spotted a Grimore placed upon a Cherry Wood pedestal. Within its pages was a drawing of a creature she didn't recognize. But it was intriguing enough to keep her mind occupied. The book was closed gently and blocked by the Veela. Her soft prose broke the awkward silence that befell the room.

"Gabrielle…? Please, tea and towels."

The teen, always wanting to please her sister complied with a quick nod and bounded off.

Hermione gripped her damp hands behind her, her head slightly lowered, "I thought it would be rude to not have properly welcomed you to Hogwarts." She heard herself begin. Her voice was barely audible and sounded harsh about the edges; inexorably…with each sentence, her tone was peppered with her silent plea.

"M'lle Granger--", Fleur gently protested.

Hermione wouldn't hear of it and pressed on, "-- And seeing how I was extremely rude early on I…"

"-- You really don't 'ave…"

"…feel I should apologise because…"

"…There waz nothing to be sorry for. So--"

"…BECAUSE I need to!", cried the girl. Hermione's eyes were red rimmed and imploring, "It's the _only _thing I have left! The only thing I know how to do _right_…please just let me apologize. L…let me…do _something_ right"

The damn broke under the immense pressure her body began to unabashedly convulse as her withered hands flew up to her mouth trying in vain to stop those choked sobs. But even before the first tears fell to the earth she was encompassed. And that familiar scent was finally placed…

It was incense and… jasmine…it was _Fleur._

She collapsed willingly into the Veela's arms. The only person that reached out and held her up. Hermione's hands gripped at the frontal lapels of Fleur's robe clinging onto her savior.

Soothingly, the French enchantress held her close, resting her head upon the youth's own as Hermione desperately tucked in further for contact. She murmured above the pangs of sharp intakes of air and sobs that cut the room,

"I'm here… I can handle all of it...So give me everything," with no rhyme or reason, Fleur placed a chaste kiss to the youth's damp forehead.

As the tears free fell…the broken teenager did.

- - - -

_next: What we didn't see._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Four.**_

_**Hermione's view…**_

"Reckon we can't 'ave us a picnic," mewled Neville. His face was plastered against one of the sweeping Cathedral-style windows of the antiquated edifice.

"Not that we could have one anyway, Headmaster's called for an assembly," announced Hermione in her ever matter of fact-like tone.

But then a pitchfork shape of blinding white-hot light stabbed at the horizon, while its tail end spider-webbed across the now darkened skies of England, the howling and whipping of rain plus wind elevated the storm ridden ambiance. It sent the younger students of Hogwarts into a fit of fright and sheer child like excitement. Those that cowered had found themselves gravitating towards their only beacon. The Heads' of each of their respective houses. Hermione found it utterly endearing…She couldn't wait to have a few of her own, she'd hoped Ron felt the same.

In crisp and efficient fashion, the teenager herded her flock together then led them towards the cavernous expanse of the Great Hall. Along the way she had idly begun to explain to her ducklings, what and why lightening exists and occurs. In Scientific terms no less.

"Could you be any _less_ boring, Granger?"

At least she graduated from being a Mudblood.

The little ones shifted their collective eyes from Hermione towards her assailant before sending their gaze back to their Head Girl. Genially she motioned for them all to file in giving them a smile of assurance. Though the younglings complied, the so called mature Gryffindors had lingered about. Most admittedly delighted in the confrontations that played between Slytherin folk and their own. Considering it was one of the Three, the confrontation was made more worthwhile.

Hermione turned her eyes towards the source of the assault. The snide smirk and slightly pock marked face of the otherwise debonair Slytherin Head Boy, greeted her. Draco Malfoy stalked towards her with that sickening swagger. He was, she grudgingly admitted, quite the gorgeous slab of maleness. Where Ron and Harry flaunted their roguish come hither looks, Draco had been the perfect Calvin Klein candidate; cutting a dangerous and sharp look in tailored suits. A defined wall of Maroon/Gold and Emerald/Whites formed just outside of the Hall.

She crossed her arms over the gentle swell of her modestly sized chest. Another clap of thunder boomed.

"I could easily be less boring…_If_ you could be a _lot_ smarter." Hermione smiled saccharinely sweet; Draco's brow quirked. As she side-glanced the Muggle noticed a few cherubic faced youths that remained near her. She forcibly held back her venomous wordsmithing because of that fact.

"As much as I'd _love _to hear how below you I am…Now isn't the time Malfoy – take your aggressions out elsewhere," Hermione chided.

She had whirled about to gather her remaining charges, a gentle but firm pressure was felt at the crook of her arm. Slowly, Hermione glanced over her shoulder. Draco Malfoy was mere inches from her, and tugged her closer still.

His breath was surprisingly gentle and smelled of peppermint – not as stagnant as she had thought. Draco's lips weren't chapped either, something she had been unused to. As he spoke the venom that had always been resident was suddenly replaced with what she thought was…compassion?

"Listen Granger, if anything happens between you and Weaslebee…"

But in a flash Draco's arm was ripped from further contact of the Muggle. Hermione witnessed that had his head whip-lashed backward. Situated protectively before her, her red faced beau stood towering over the sprawled Slytherin. Harry had flanked her right, his wand was drawn and at the ready.

"Touch 'er again…," infuriated Ron, "I'll break your arms an' make sure they'll only be touchin' the inside of your arsehole."

Hoots and hollers exploded on the Gryffindor side. Slytherin with all their house pride they could muster edged into the darker portions of the expansive hallway before they had slipped into the Great Hall. Draco's seething slate-gray eyes narrowed in utter contempt towards Ron. His eyes drifted then towards the coffee trussed Muggle…

She felt her cheeks swelter with heat at the intensity of the Slytherin's stare. The muggle didn't understand what had just happened. But she knew she had never seen Ron so…enraged before. Hermione wormed her way to the fore pressing both Harry and Ron backward. "E-Enough! Just…" she looked back towards a bloodied Draco; he'd been lead away by his loyal cronies, "…Leave him be, forget it!"

They acquiesced, not willingly.

Ron gripped Hermione's hand and pulled her into a secluded niche. There he pushed her firmly against the dank wall. His knee wedged itself between her thighs, garnering a surprised cry. Only to be stifled with his rough lips pressed against her own. She surprised herself with how much she had wanted it. Hermione's arms draped about Ron's neck, clinging to him and drawing him further onto her. He complied.

Between those searing kisses he breathed out, "He was flirting with you, you know tha'…" then clamped his teeth at the fleshy junction of her neck and shoulder.

She whimpered, "…You're deluded."

"You're _mine. _You belong t'me."

She was taken aback at the ferocity in his eyes at that proclamation, "I…I know."

"I love you more'n anyone else possibly _ever_ could." He pulled back, "You _do_ know tha', don't you?"

Hermione searched his eyes and saw the sincerity she'd always known. "I feel every bit as you do."

He smiled, pressing his lips to her forehead, "Then tell me, I wanna hear it…"

Hermione couldn't contain her smile, and leaned forward. She brushed her lips over his eyes and whispered, "As I need the air to breathe…I need you. I _love_ you, Ronald Weasley."

"_Be_ with me tonight?"

She puzzled at this, "I'm already _with_ you, aren't I?"

"No. Not in the way that I want." Ron paused, bringing her hands to his lips, kissing the back of them gently, "I wanna make you _mine_ completely; you _know_ it's right – y'been teasin' me for so long, I don't think I can 'old out."

"Ron…we've been through this – I'm just not sure if…I'm--"

He drew back looking at her from the shadows where Hermione couldn't read his features. They stood there for what seemed like an eternity she couldn't move. An indiscernible mood was set and for her to move suddenly would bring the surrealistic moment crashing about her. Ron finally eased from her, his back turned. Slipping his hands into his pockets the red headed teen looked to her from over his broad shoulder.

"I love _you_ Hermione, remember that – promise?"

She let loose a breath, "Always."

Hermione would never forget.

- - - -

Harry had been faithfully waiting at the entryway albeit entertaining a few girls with his adventures. Ginny happened by with Luna Lovegood and pointedly ignored the Teen Wonder – Soon afterward, Harry followed in. Luna shuffled by as always with her face buried into an upside down periodical. But at the sight of Ron, she managed to offer a fingered, wistful wave. Normally Ron would have reciprocated in some fashion, a dopey smile or an unsure gesture of recoil…instead he breezed pass barely acknowledging either his sister or Luna.

"Well…someone's got their knickers in a bunch…," dreamily mused Luna as her eyes immediately dropped back to her paper.

"Freak," affectionately drawled Ginny, to which Luna gave a genial yet swift smile then turned her gaze towards Hermione who had tailed in after the pair.

The Muggle had always been dumbfounded at Ginny's friendship with Luna. Odd as it was, it was a friendship that was steadfast. Feeling Luna's focused gaze on her, Hermione stiffened.

"What?"

The odd girl's grin turned sympathetic, "You both had a row didn't you." The comment was stated in the most matter of fact way that it came off as a comment and not a query.

Hermione boggled, "If you must know…which you _don't_ because it's not any of your bloody business – Ron and I are perfect. So no, no _row_."

"Oh," said Luna thoughtfully. "I'm sorry you had to go through it then."

"Luna," admonished Ginny, "Stop scaring all the normal people."

With a cant of her head followed by a roll of her shoulders Luna gathered her oddities and made her way between the two Gryffindors, remarking in passing, "They should stop being normal, then we'd all us get along." With an air kiss proffered towards Ginny, Luna slipped into the sea of bodies that began settling in for the Assembly.

Hermione's mouth gaped open. Ginny shrugged.

"I know, she's a wild woman that one. Can't bloody control her for naught." Ginny glanced towards the Head Girl, "Have a sit-down?", then patted a spot for Hermione.

The Muggle's gaze had traversed towards Ron who had already found his group of friends and apparently began to regale what had just occurred outside the Hall, at least from the looks of his animated hand gestures. She chuckled. _Everything was fine._ A Head Girl's duty had been much more demanding than a Boy's. So with a negation of her head to Ginny, Hermione explained she had been assigned to the first year's table. Her friend called it baby-sitting duties for precocious 11 year olds. In a way, it was.

Having given her goodbyes, Hermione wended her way to her designated spot. The younglings that recognized her waved ardently; those that hadn't were in awe. She was after all, 'Harry Potter's good friend'. Popularity through association had been a given when you're linked with Harry. Questions upon questions regarding the Teen Icon would soon surface. It's something she's learned to accept as her routine. A tug to her robes was felt.

_Ah…here we go._

"Miss 'ermione?" The girl was bright eyed and hopeful. Hermione knelt primly with practiced eased.

"Harry's a bit like…"

The girl looked at her curiously and Hermione caught herself. It had been automatic for her to reply with her speech about her popular friend. "You don't want to hear about Harry?"

She and two other youngsters shook their heads collectively.

"Then…?"

"You and Mr. Ron!"

Hermione laughed softly and felt that infernal blush beginning to paint her cheeks. "What about?"

"Well…he's so handsome, and you've been together since before time,"

Hermione couldn't help but steal a chuckle. It had been a long time, hadn't it?

"…D'you have advice for someone looking for Mr. Right, someone like me? Or did you use magic?"

She'd've been labeled a hypocrite were she to mention the youth's age in regards to romance. Hermione hadn't been that much older when it hit her. So she took a more tactful approach, "Someone like you…?"

The girl nodded, "I'm not pretty like that girl Mr. Ron's talking to now, and…_you're_ like me. So I thought…"

The Muggle's brow twitched at the affront and soon muted out any other words the youth had spewed.

_Just a little girl…Precious…little…._

Hermione swallowed her wounded pride and searched her beau out. Sure enough, he had left the throws of his mates and now stood with Parvati. Hermione rose to her feet and remained transfixed at the Carmelite and the Red Head. Their body language, their interaction, the gap that rested between them and how…intermittently it disappeared. It's almost as if…

What exactly, Hermione? 

Her paranoia reared its ugly head.

The floating mass of candelabras was soon dimmed as Headmaster Dumbledore began his welcoming prose – the Headmaster's voice effortlessly quelled the chatter that brewed amongst the student body. Thank God for that, thought Hermione – no more awkward questions to wrestle with. Moving from obscuring the plethora of 1st year's views, the Muggle nearly ran over fellow Head Girl of Hufflepuff's house, Susan Bones.

The latter teen was a bit out of breath, but smiled graciously none the less. "SO glad to literally run into you Hermione."

Despite the nagging sickness roiling about the pit of her stomach and her mucked about mind, the semi bushy haired Muggle brandished a charitable bob of her head, "Something the matter..?"

"Goodness I," huffed Susan, "There will be if I don't manage to finish up my report tonight."

Hermione inclined her head questioningly.

"Professor Snape – In a right fit, he is. He's just gotten meaner over the last few days." Susan nodded somberly, "Anyway, he's demanding a two scroll parchment, due tomorrow. I've YET to start."

"But it's your hall monitoring,-" The Muggle realized then nodded in understanding, "Ah…Not a problem, I'd be happy to take duty run tonight."

Susan was beside herself as she engulfed Hermione in a brief, yet ferocious embrace, "I _owe_ you, Hermione."

The cocoa eyed teenager though, was inwardly glad to accept the duty – nights were her best time for introspection. Especially nights with no incessant clamoring of students at her door to resolve issues or to play counselor. As they had broke apart, Headmaster Dumbledore's voice drew their attention. He was dressed as always, in his eccentric mannerism – Hermione would have likened him to an American entertainer resident in those Casinos that poked up from Nevada's barren wastelands.

He went on to explain that there was an interim Transfiguration instructor whilst Professor McGonagall was on a leave of absence. As expected a slew of murmurs rumbled from the students. Rumor-mongering would soon begin in speculation of the Professor. A shock of orange and pink cropped hair bounced as the woman was introduced. Giggles rippled from many of the 1st year students, entertained by the sinewy woman who bowed with such flourish.

"I should have known."

"Oh. Oh my…Do you know her Hermione?"

She smiled in reply. "She goes by Tonks," Susan blanched witnessing the rather eclectic looking woman, display her qualifications – Her head morphed into something that the Hufflepuff would have guessed was some sort of mammal, and Hermione laughed, "It's…complicated. Rest assured, I think she's an excellent addition."

"I think I'll have to take your word for it…"

"And finally," interrupted Dumbledore prompting Tonks to cease her rumpus play upon the staging area.

It was nothing more than just a fleeting glance from the corner of her eye. But it had been enough to still her breathing. The shock of platinum weaved through the staff upon the stage and effectively remained out of view. Hermione felt herself anticipating the announcement.

"As most of you recall, some years back Hogwarts played host to the Tri-Wizard Tournament…"

Albus Dumbledore had always been a charismatic man, easily drawing more than his fare share of attention for his certain eccentricities. But that charisma wasn't the thing that garnered Hermione's current acute attentiveness. Just by the opening words to his introduction – The Muggle failed to notice that her body reacted, albeit in the most subtle manner, oddly.

She went ram-rod stiff while her eyes began searching the staging area for that one flash of Silver-fawn. Her breathing caught just as the sight of that gentle shade of Ice-blue robes that shifted in a seat just off center of the platform.

"Hermione? Are you alright? You've gone white-knuckled."

Glancing to her hands, the Head Girl had realized her fists were clenched while her arms were crossed. She looked towards Susan and nodded quickly. "Just cold…" It was a valid excuse, Old Man Winter was sniffing about the corner, but within the muggle it was just THAT. An _excuse._

"…We are thusly privy that she had accepted a newly indoctrinated position with Hogwarts as Student Counselor…and…Housemistress of Gryffindor." The Headmaster beckoned the woman forth. "Please make her most welcome…"

The enchantress rose from her seat, her form nestled within those robes. Her hair was different than this morning. It…suited her. _But when do they NOT suit her?_ It was a loose braid that had its tail end draped lazily over her shoulder. Fleur's head inclined gently.

"Oh my God, isn't that…?" hissed Susan.

The Gryffindor gave a singular nod, "Yes." Her voice had gone raspy and her attention rapt. Unexpectedly Fleur's gaze drifted towards the Muggle's vicinity. Hermione remained stationary her own eyes met the Veela's for the first time since that morning. And that very same mixed sensation blanketed the Muggle.

Confusion, Frustration, Defiance…and...

An impasse had been met within that time, so it felt for Hermione. She nodded towards Fleur in acknowledgement and in an instant was gifted with a ghosted smile. With that…the young teen was free from the Veela's complex gaze and willed with a new…perhaps even complex relationship with one Fleur DeLacour. What it would become, was left to be written. Hermione knew only, that in that instance both she and Fleur _clicked._

"…The _nerve _of her! Hermione…will you be alright?" Susan's voice was riddled with concern. The history between the pair was outright legendary within the campus grounds, as expected – the Hogwarts brood, including Slytherin, stick to their own. And Fleur was no where near that moniker.

Hermione barely heard the Hufflepuff's protestation among the booming applause for Fleur but replied with a smile and said,

"I think…No…I know I'll be fine."

- - - -

"Did she take it?"

Susan had accidentally dropped her things as she exited the Hall. The clamor of yipping mouths had ceased and she was in charge of securing the hall for the remainder of the night. The Hufflepuff youth turned about and met the shrouded figure.

"You and I both knew she would have," stated Susan, "It's just how Hermione is." She paused, "I don't understand why you hold such contempt for her."

Lavender pulled her hood about her features and brusquely walked towards Susan. She knelt picking up a notebook and handed it over to the lanky Head Girl, "Let me ask you…why did _you_ agree?"

She snatched the notebook from Lavender's hand. The latter smirked, "Exactly, we all have our reasons." Her eyes raked Susan's form, "You because you're a jealous _twit_," The brown haired youth froze, horrified at the accusation. Which…was true. The ever popular Hermione Granger – the Muggle never knew how good she had it even when she complained of the stupidest things.

"And I…because…"

Lavender paused, recalling the moment that she had slipped and told Hermione her darkest secret. The fear haunted her since then. Because Hermione was who she was and a part of the group of which she's a part of…there was a huge possibility of everyone finding out. Girls like her have the need to blather and because the student body thrives on rumor-mongering to define cliques, it was a matter of time. Lavender was just countering the onslaught.

"Because…I can damn well hate who I want to."

All's fair in…lust and war.

- - -

Hermione clopped her hand over the wide expanse of her mouth, managing to stifle another onset of a yawn.

"God, this is absolutely ridiculous…," As soon as her hand was freed from covering her mouth, the Muggle whisked her wand outward and murmured, "Wingardrium Leviosa."

The warm mug of hot chocolate carefully tittered from the grasp of her other hand and the Witch cast another incantation; the brew soon floated along with her at a leisurely pace. She rounded a corner and paused at the nearest stone windows; Mother Nature was certainly putting on a display this night. The rain began to assault the school at an angle, followed closely by its siblings - Thunder and Lightening. Hermione watched the weather reveling at the magnificence of what was happening and suddenly felt alone, this had been the first time she had a chance to watch the world move past her. Hermione felt that everything was leaving her behind. When had been the last time she and Ron actually spent time with one another? For the times they had…

It was filled with more bickering than naught.

She sighed. Their priorities had taken different paths. Yet…Neither spoke of separating.

Hermione certainly wouldn't dream of it.

But as suddenly as those thoughts crept in, they were replaced by the oddities that occurred throughout the day.

Fleur's appearance and the way they 'disagreed' – _she scoffed in mild irritation yet…_

Draco's attempt at civility – _she rolled her eyes._

Ron's proclamation – _she should have smiled but instead furrowed her brows in worry._

Fleur's glance in the assembly – _she felt an instantaneous burning in the aftermath of the connection._

Hermione rubbed absently at her arms before continuing her duties for the night. Frivolous thoughts of fancy. Oh how she loved to oversimplify _everything. _

"But that's what you get for thinking for far more than one can suffer, 'Mione m'girl."

The Muggle reached up and cradled the still warm concoction and took a generous sip. Letting loose a content mewl, Hermione paused. The baby fine hairs that graced the nape of her neck stood on end. There was a presence. Considering the time, it wouldn't've been odd to see some of the upperclassmen breaking school curfew – all dependant on what moods that some were in. Hermione's had her fair shake at being rebellious.

She placed her mug back unto its lofty home before she proceeded down her designated monitoring area. Not to Hermione's surprise as she crossed into the wing that held the Library, there was a singular lantern lit within. On closer inspection, there was a cloaked figure pressed against one of the massive pillars just outside of the Library. From the demure way it moved and the way the figure's hands were dainty, yet animated Hermione ascertained it was a female. A female who wasn't alone. Scrutinizing her gaze, the Muggle could see the female was engrossed in a heated discussion.

More people must have been hidden in shadow.

"Excuse me…", Hermione's voice was clipped, yet grating due to the lateness of the hour.

The figure halted its actions then turned about to face the Muggle. Hermione's eyes took note of the crest sewn just above the girl's left breast and frowned a touch. "Of our own house no less? As Head Girl, you know very well I can't play favorites."

"Oh. I knew that," replied the cloaked girl. "You've always been a stickler for the rules…somewhat."

"Lavender…?"

"Ah…yeah, hi Hermione," she meekly replied. The cowl pooled about Lavender's shoulders as she met the Muggle's confused glance.

"If you knew the rules, Laven-"

"-Because! Well…you see, I was headed back towards the dorms with some friends," interjected the other Gryffindor girl, "Late night studying and all – you know how that goes, _such_ fun."

Hermione's impatience began to show with the cross of her arms and an arc of her sculpted brow.

"And, we happened by _here_. A lantern was on. We were arguing just before you got here in fact, on whether or not to rat on these unscrupulous gits."

"_We?" _ Hermione glanced past Lavender's form.

The girl then gasped, in effect shrugging off the previous askance posed by the Head Girl. The reaction elicited was so very well timed. Hermione already pushed beyond her threshold tossed her gaze into the Library…

Lavender bit the inside of her cheek to quell the undeniable pain that surged in her. Her pain though, couldn't have been as bad as what the Muggle was currently going through. Stealing a glance towards Hermione, a sated smirk painted over her lips.

Hermione felt her breathing quicken as her eyes blinked in rapid succession, unable to deny the saline that had pooled there.

Thunder and Lightening continued their chaotic symphony while within the comforts and warmth of the Library, two bodies continued to merge as one. They weren't fully dislodged from their clothes. It was unnecessary, skirts and zippers were easy to manipulate. Ron had Parvati pinned against a wall, angling his hips into the exotic female. Her head had been thrown back in euphoric bliss and his massive hand had grappled her wrists. Parvati's lips formed his name, calling it out with each piston into her before he stifled her cries with _his_ lips.

Each piston lead to successive stabs tearing the Muggle inside out. She tore past Lavender who followed the escaping Muggle with her darkened eyes.

"I suppose…it hurt."

The Gryffindor puppet lobbed her gaze towards the darkened shadows, they pulsed alive. She understood that first blood had been drawn, culminating from extensive, and intricate plans, little effort was given on the sentient's behalf. The rest came naturally by human emotions – in the form of all seven sins: _Envy, Wrath, Pride, Gluttony, Sloth, Lust and Greed_..

And the majority of those _sins_ had come to pass. The very primal needs of every human that ever evolved. With that base, the threads that bound will finally come asunder.

Lavender stood there, her shoulders shuddering from the immensity of what happened, what still was occurring and what should come.

She finally let her tears fall and the guilt seep in.

- - - -

And then came the morning after… 

It was selfish of her to do, but Fleur couldn't deny her body what it so desperately needed. And it needed sleep. A sleep that hadn't come easily. Her head ached and her body was worse for wear. Before the assembly, the Veela did what was ordered of her to do. But to no avail…Her empathic talents weren't sufficient. Something had blocked her innate ability.

The Order hadn't been pleased. Scratch that. Snape had been furious.

Her arm had been thrown over her eyes – a precautionary action. The sun when it decided to show, was merciless in this country. It was a comfort then that the rain hadn't subsided. The gentle smattering against her sweeping vaulted windows was a welcome call to wakefulness.

Fleur turned her head to regard her bedmate. Hermione's body had been in a fetal position at the beginning of the night, but subconsciously the younger woman had searched out for warmth that only flesh could provide. Ever the light sleeper, the Frenchwoman felt Hermione's touch beg for comfort.

For protection.

Fleur complied. Her arm snaked beneath the Muggle's head, but no farther than.

It was Hermione whom nestled her face at Fleur's shoulder, her arms though were tucked into herself and crossed alongside the French Witch's body. Before she was fully aware of herself, Fleur had gently lifted the curtain of the Muggle's hair from the youth's face. The teen's cheeks were tearstained this upset the enchantress far more than she would ever realize. She had a chance to question the youth, but coherency wasn't applicable that night and Fleur never pressed.

Hermione hadn't been the only visitor to the Counselor's wing. Gabrielle, unlike her sister was an early bird. She stood at Fleur's bedchamber opening for a good five minutes watching until…

"What are you doing," the remark held an underlying hint of derision. Fleur's attention was drawn towards her sister.

Slowly the elder woman untangled herself from the Muggle and slipped from the bed. Still clad in her silken attire the night before, Fleur hadn't been able to change into more appropriate attire much to the disappointment of Gabrielle. Passing her younger sister she beckoned the youth to follow her into the main living area.

"Well?", pressed Gabrielle as she trotted close behind.

Fleur twisted her hair into a haphazard bun and turned about to advance on the young woman. Then, on pressing a single digit to Gabby's lips she murmured,

"I thought I taught you respect, non?" her eyes flicked back towards her bedroom, "we still 'ave a guest. What's wrong with you…"

Gabrielle huffed, "It…just _looked_…weird." she pondered, "No. Wrong perhaps is a better word to use. I didn't like it."

Fleur chuckled giving a genteel wave of her hand upon the assorted kitchen utensils. They shuddered gently, gyrating into action at their mistress' bidding. A plethora of ingredients spilled from the pantry and refrigerator.

"And since when does a sleeping person look _wrong?_"

"When it's another _female_; no less being unabashedly forward in my sister's bed."

Slipping her nostalgic black rimmed glasses upon the bridge of her nose, Fleur grew quiet and she lowered her eyes towards the newly arrived edition of the Daily Prophet. It seemed that Fleur cannot trust all things of herself to Gabrielle, just yet.

It sounded like someone had voluntarily crashed into a window. Both sisters edged into the next room, finding a rather disheveled Muggle on all fours plucking a tea set that lay in ruin from the marble floor.

Gabrielle's face had colored instantaneously.

"Merde! _That _was from our-"

Hermione froze.

"It's time for your classes, isn't it," sniped Fleur, her eyes burrowed into her sister. Who immediately grew tight lipped. The enchantress softly intoned dissipating the anger of the youth, "Gabrielle, please."

The youth tossed her airy glance towards the Muggle and then back towards her older sister, whose eyes had traversed back to Hermione. There was something in Fleur's eyes that Gabrielle couldn't identify with and didn't like. Gratingly she edged out, "I'll see you at lunch, Fleur..."

With a defiant slam of the front door, Fleur could only afford a sigh. Her sister was becoming an ambiguity to the Veela. Something she would need to deal with sooner or later. But it was a given as both sisters had only been reunited the previous week before after a year and a half. People had the nasty tendency to grow…Fleur had hopped they didn't drift apart.

_One failure at a time, Fleur…_

Her eyes drifted towards the still knelt Muggle. With ease of grace Fleur lowered herself then had traveled her hands over that of the youth's.

The hands were warm, the same warmth that was sorely missed from the moment it left her in the first dusting of Morning-Light; she wanted it back. Hermione had awoken with a start in unfamiliar surroundings and a foreign bed, the coffee topped woman panicked; she gathered herself from the bed and made her way from the chamber. She heard the voices in the adjacent room, but hoped to make her escape without a person witting of her existence.

Damn her left footedness.

But feeling that heat that so comforted her last night returned by the simplest touch, Hermione's adrenaline was deflated; she wanted to cave into that warmth again and find that cover of safety she found within Fleur's presence.

…_that quiet strength._

She resisted. Pity-seeking is _not_ what Hermione should have been doing. She was strong enough to handle her own crisis. And to depend on someone was a personal tragedy. But…

What does one do, when a shoulder is freely offered?

Firmly, the Veela urged Hermione to her feet, "Breathe in," instructed the Frenchwoman.

Already on her feet, the Muggle looked unenthusiastically towards Fleur, but complied. A cacophony of smells hit her nostrils. Bacon was the predominant scent, accompanied by the strong brew of coffee. Her brows furrowed as the beckoning roused her empty belly awake. She looked away from Fleur embarrassed of herself.

But the Veela continued with her hospitality, non-plussed.

Nor did Fleur react to the audible salutation of Hermione's gut, but instead, she absently…unknowingly…_naturally_ laced her fingers with the teen and tugged her towards the kitchen. Once there, the appointed Counselor drifted from the Muggle's side. Her fingers untwined from the Muggle's own.

The warmth disappeared once more, leaving Hermione empty. And this frightened her. But she didn't want to voice it. Else the fear will have a name and forever rule the muggle.

"I was not sure what you wanted," and motioned about with an inclination of her head, "So a little bit of everything was made."

Though her stomach spoke volumes, her heartache and mind won out in the classic battle of mind over matter. "I'm…I'm not as hungry as I thought I was. I'm sorry."

Fleur's back had been turned, and she paused in mid stir of her morning brew. She shrugged and murmured,

"Then-"

The Veela found her lips wanting to say _we_.

"-**I** will 'ave left-overs for the nex' few days, oui?"

No answer. Fleur knew patience would be her only key.

The woman turned about, letting the small of her back come to rest against the lip of her kitchen counter-top. Her Cerulean colored eyes affixed themselves on the teenager. The night brought a broken girl to her doorstep, in the middle of the same night the girl was nothing more than someone searching for something to cling on to be buoyed. This morning, Hermione Granger became someone that Fleur found herself wanting to be the person to help her through what haze suddenly blanketed the once determined Head Girl.

Hermione sat at a little nook, drawing her knees towards her chest. Her head came to rest against the rain-water streaked pane of a kitchen window. The teenager's gaze pinioned on what she knew were students en route towards their fist classes of the morning, they were nothing more than blurbs of drab colors smeared on an artist's canvass.

She hated impressionism anyway.

As she turned away from the surreal sight, Hermione heard the wooden slats of the nook she sat upon, give way. There the Veela sat, just mere inches from her. The woman's hand was extended holding aloft a steaming mug of…something. She looked to Fleur with wary eyes and sighed.

"I told you-"

"-you were not 'ungry…," completed Fleur, "An' thiz, is a drink. So, let us pretend that I am a good 'ostess and you an accommodating guest, oui?" The Veela gently coasted the mug once more towards Hermione.

The Muggle swallowed Fleur's words and realized how seemingly ungrateful she had been, despite considering what had occurred just a few hours before. Quietly, she accepted the mug and inadvertently took a healthy whiff. It wasn't the repugnant stench of coffee that she had been expecting, but instead was the enveloping comfort of hot cocoa.

"Made with milk, not water," commented Fleur.

Hermione frowned, "I don't want to go back to sleep."

The Veela had been entranced with watching the girl's reaction, she couldn't help it even if she had the mind to. Fleur reached out, tucking Hermione's errant wavy bangs from the teenager's face. Gently…Instinctively, the she cupped the young woman's cheek causing Hermione to turn her deep brown eyes towards those immaculate Cerulean storms.

_So much tumult. _

"Warm milk iz a natural sedative, m'lle Granger. The most it will do, iz calm you."

Hesitantly, Fleur forced herself to break contact. She needed to. Regaining her composure the still robed Veela rose from the convenient close-quarter ledge. She made her way towards the kitchen island, plucking a piece of toast from the already set dishes of breakfast. Hermione watched her move, she felt an overwhelming panic.

_Please don't leave me now._

"Where…"

Fleur halted, casting a glance over her shoulder and she paused in mid chew.

"What…I meant to ask was, if you're leaving." questioned Hermione, barely managing to stifle the croak of dread clinging at the back of her throat.

Sympathy coursed in the Veela's form. The threads of a crutch were beginning to build. Fleur…fighting through a strain of emotions and duty, needed to put a stop to it. She was here for one reason and _only_ that reason. This…_This_ was becoming an unexpected hiccup.

"Oui. I 'ave work, m'lle Granger," Fleur replied tenderly.

Her hands gripped the mug nervously having forgotten exactly where she was, "Oh. Right, right…And I've classes." Hermione glanced at her reflection cast on the tawny surface of her drink and gave an uneasy chuckle, causing the liquid to ripple and distort her twin in the mug. She inwardly realized just how pathetic she must be looking right now. And of all people…it had to be in front of Fleur.

Composed… 

_Strong willed…_

_Perfect..._

_Overwhelmingly…gentle. Surprisingly gentle._

"…You're allowed to miss a day, you know."

Her gaze hadn't wavered from Fleur but the woman's words snapped her back to her reality. Hermione took a deep lungful of air, followed by a healthy nip of the warm cocoa. It immediately surged through her.

"It's…it's fine. _I'm _fine, I've tests to take anyway," she set the cocoa aside, "I'll be out of your hair."

Fleur gave a slight bob of her head one that came all too…hesitantly. The kind of pain that veiled the youth's eyes was too difficult to dismiss let alone be forgotten. She admired Hermione for her strength, but had come to respect her more for letting the walls crumble.

"Fleur…?"

Hermione tasted the Veela's name over her tongue for the first time, and her insides involuntarily reacted, it confused the normally straight and narrow Muggle.

"Would you think me ill if…if I came by again," Hermione quickly tacked on, "Just…to talk, sometimes."

At the simplistic request…the HINT of an askance, the enchantress had become the enchanted. The proud youth allowed a breadth of her vulnerability to be shown. That she wasn't as formidable as her masks had made her out to be. A faint smile coursed over the full of the Veela's lips..

"Is that how you English ask for 'elp from we French…?", lightly prodded Fleur.

"If only to have you French feel better about yourselves," smartly replied Hermione, thankful for the attempt at optimism, but quietly she lowered her head and nodded,

"Yes…I'm…I'm asking for your help."

The still-quiet was enough to cut with a dull blade, but the silence was a comfortable blanket, not intrusive in any fashion. As her eyes shifted towards her cobblestone kitchen floor, the Veela made note of the intermittent scores of lines of light that wedged between the minute crevices that were provided by the uneven surface. They moved in natural fashion across the stone, laying themselves across any surface they had caressed. Glancing past Hermione, Fleur motioned with an inclination of her head. Spikes of sunlight broke through the doldrums of the English skies.

"It seems…the rain 'as stopped."

She had followed the imperial beauty's gaze, "I would never have thought it would…," somberly confessed Hermione.

"All it takes, is time."

The teen inhaled deeply, rolling Fleur's words in her mind. Yes, time would make things heal…and right…But, could Hermione afford to wait? Could she work through the betrayals? Her pain?

"Thank you," the muggle heard herself murmur, continuing stalwartly, "If there is _anything_ I could do for you…I could _give_ you," she had paused, feeling the weight of Fleur's gaze on her, "I would do it, in less than a heartbeat. Please know that."

Fleur gave an ever slight cant of her head in acknowledgement towards Hermione's sincere prose, then quietly padded her way from the kitchenette. She made it finally into her private sanctuary, the bed was still in a shamble. It was only a few hours ago the Fleur felt the first thumps of her heart. So it _did_ beat. She be damned if Bill Weasley's threat ever came to fruition…._but…_

Her brows furrowed in disquiet at the teen's words. Only the company of a bittersweet thought now haunted her inner mind.

_You can't give me what you don't have._

- - - -

a/n: I appreciate all the comments/suggestions…I promise, somewhere along the lines this will get better. R/R, give a woman a nice ego boost ;)


	5. Chapter 5

_**Five .**_

He loved them. He loved them _all_. There was just something about a girl, or woman in a plaid and pleated skirt…with a necktie. By the gods and all that is divine – he had surely come to the right place. Blatantly his eyes raked over each budding woman's form as he passed. They did the courteous thing, giggling and offering come hither looks accompanied with delicate finger waves. He still had that devilish charm and an infernal itch that could only be scratched by one woman.

Granted…he hadn't mind taking an occasional side dish to sate that appetite.

But it wasn't the same. He stuffed his one of his mammoth paws into the pits of his tatty cargo pants and let loose a beleaguered sigh fall from his lips. Bill Weasley stood amidst an exodus of students crossing the sloshy knoll of green. Classes were out for lunch he supposed. Good, it gave him time to stave of facing that insufferable greased up cur, Professor Snape. Bill filled his lungs with the brisk English air, causing him to cough uncontrollably. Torture of a smoker, he thought.

"Bloody clean air's goin' t'kill me…"

It was ages since he'd set foot in Hogwarts. The grandiose Citadel was still daunting with its sweeping spires, topped off with sagging wooden shingles. So decrepit that with a stiff wind they would surely be eradicated from this existence. But…Hogwarts proved to be an indomitable force of nature itself. Sweeping his gaze towards the Quidditch Pitch, Bill could see the erratic weaving and bobbing of pin prick sized players with the clearest skies of blue as their backdrop – quite the scene especially after a storm surge.

Someone had scored, considering the high pitched tinny of yelps wafting from that direction. Ah, to be young once more. As he continued towards the massive edifice's gaping entryway to its many outer corridors, Bill felt his trek slow. His eyes had been aimlessly searching, for what? His mind wouldn't acknowledge. From one of the inner rings of the school's outer hallways, she came. Bill was blindsided. Fleur was knelt before a troupe of students. They were varied from houses and equally varied in ages.

Some say that even before you're aware, your body becomes cognizant of its attraction to **the one**. That everything clicks, that it reacts subtly with each touch and longing glance. Everyone else will notice, but the person enamored.

That was bullshit in Bill's mind. If you're horny, you're horny, and you fess up then do something about it. Love's just a laymen's excuse to use before they bang the living daylights out of the** one** he or she wants to snog. He had always said he loved Fleur without ever really knowing what exactly he meant, it gave him a free pass to ravage her as he so wanted.

Bill only knew that with saying that word…he was the **first **to own her in everyway possible and in ways that pre-pubescent boys dreamed of. And that alone gave him an immense pride.

She rose from her position, ruffling the top of a youth, who had swoon under the effect of the Veela. Fleur paused in her stride and turned, someone had called her name. He immediately sought refuge behind a massive banister from where he continued to observe. Another female had approached the French Witch. Easily recognizable, he smiled – His brother's bird. But that smile went away, for the youth had seen better days, it concerned him. Then again, when standing in comparison to the object of his desires…

Hermione was gaunt looking, with bags under her eyes. It seemed Fleur had noticed as well. The woman drew closer towards the teen, a hand moving upwards to make note of the darkened patches by gently tracing the shadowed pockets with a thumb, she eased her hand back to her side. Their heads had lowered casually towards the other as if…as if…what they had to share to one another were only for their ears and that everyone outside were intruders to their bubble. In a move that only brought the younger female as close as possible she then reached forth, plucking something off of Fleur's robe. But Hermione then drew back, failing miserably at stopping a smile to crack her lips which faded only after they had departed each other's company. In just a blink the conversation was over.

The younger woman continued on, no doubt to another class before she abruptly turned calling aloud, "Why is it, you French have the crudest jokes."

The elder too had taken pause, she then glanced over her shoulder and replied, "Because you English are too stuffy to make any of your own, non?"

They then both turned about with nothing but a flicker of a smile and a look in their eyes that said that those words had been something only they knew the secrets of, like…a secret handshake of a newly formed club. It was the way they said it.

And how, they looked so _comfortable_ together. He had to question: When the hell did that happen? It was at this instance, the eldest Weasley felt the pangs of something other than lust for Fleur and a sibling friendship with Hermione.

Simply by observance, Fleur never looked at him like that.

- - - -

She came upon a peculiar sight but couldn't contain her smile. The young Ravenclaw bade her clique of friends good-bye before stopping in her stead. Gabrielle chuckled as probably the most handsome Weasley righted himself, pawing at his 5 O'clock shadowed chin. He was tall and broad shouldered, to be sure. But his face, his face was utterly pleasant to look upon. Tender brown eyes, aged in experience, yet impish in his forever-youth. His newly cropped hair wasn't as shockingly red as the rest of his sibs. It was a notch deeper – auburn perhaps. His angular face turned and he afforded a broad Cheshire smile.

Gabrielle recalled the day they had seen one another after a year or so. She garnered a response that she had craved. Sufficed to say, she had shocked him. He often said _'if only you were a few years older, you'd give your sister a run for her money.'_ The young Veela never cared for things of that sort.

Her sister hadn't even remarked on her transformation that day they reunited. Gabrielle wouldn't admit how it…hurt.

The tall man's arms slighted open and with a jaunt, the youth bounded to him, colliding solidly against his chest.

"Bill!"

"Penguin…," he affectionately prodded. Bill preemptively curled from the impending smack of her hand to whatever body part she had in mind this time. But it came this time as a pinch. He loosened his arms quickly.

"Oh GODS that nickname! If there was a reason to hate my sister, it would be for that."

No thanks to her beloved sister, that name was pegged on for life. It was noted by Fleur that Gabrielle had a little swagger to her step…well…a waddle to be precise. Since then, the young Veela had become immensely self conscious about how she walked. Having been set down, Gabby teetered backward, her hands marrying behind her, coming to rest at the small of her back.

Bill piteously looked at his arm, "Tha' 'URT!"

"Good per'aps it'll bruise. It'll give you something to remember me by."

"You're already hard to forget, lass."

That brought a thoughtful look over her features. Her eyes wandered pass Bill and spotted the older Veela entering the Hall for their lunch meeting, "Harder than my sister?" Her prose was a soft timbre, not meant to be heard.

"Wussat?" Bill finally regained his composure. And Gabrielle shook her head.

"Nothing," she shrugged amicably, "Why are you here?"

"Nothing important, jus' business is all," he acknowledged with a casual shrug.

Gabrielle had immense pride for herself. There were things that she excelled – far better than Fleur. It was a quiet triumph for her to surpass her sister's renown tempered with her admiration for the elder Veela…an admiration that she admits, could border obsession. But above all, she felt her wit…her brains were of exceptional stock. So at Bill's utterance it was a given that he was here specifically for one reason: To discuss her sister's 'lack of production' with a member of the Order.

It was a simple deduction for the sharp Ravenclaw. The headaches, the bruises and her listless movements were proof for Gabrielle, that Fleur was taxed to her limit. It didn't help that her sister's unique illness had grown because of the use of her powers. The younger Veela felt it was time to take action. To _protect_ her sister she had to bring herself into the limelight.

"You and I," she quietly began, Bill side-glanced the young Ravenclaw, "Love her with everything…and perhaps more than we both really know."

"Nothing passes y'does it?"

Gabrielle shrugged casually and pressed on, "But…You know…She's not the only empathic here. If she can't produce," she paused recalling instances of Fleur's serene features, hiding a struggle beneath, "You need to consider using me."

Bill crossed his arms over his chest, looking incredulously at the girl, "Ever 'eard of tact?"

"There's no need for it Bill," she chirruped. Her eyes brimmed with excitement she couldn't contain, "I **can** do it…why else did you bring me on? I'm just as good…if not better than she is. I love her with all my heart, but if she can't keep her duties straight…"

Gabrielle by all accounts had a talent, to be sure, but it was only in swindling people for a profit; quite suited for the business world – where a double edged blade belonged. Fleur's empathic ability had been honed thanks in major part to their Veela Grandmother. But Bill wouldn't confess that his was also a selfish reason, a possessive reason; Gabby was his trump card to ensnare Fleur into their cause, to hold Fleur to him. It was a convenient thing that he happened to find out the younger Veela was to be schooled at Hogwarts on an exchange program.

His hands rested about her slim shoulders, expertly avoiding the youth's question with: "I think we're speaking of two different people, lass. Fleur is the most duty conscious woman I-"

"Knew," intreceeded Gabrielle carefully.

"KNOW."

She shook her head and looked up to Bill, "There's a reason why she's my sister, m'sieur."

"And why **I'm** 'er lover," said Bill in a manner that made it seem as if his statement would have more weight than Gabrielle's. "Intimacy brings a great many revelations of a person – I **have** been with 'er fer three years y'know." He had no qualms talking to the youth in such a manner. After all, the girl was smart – and on the whole teenagers weren't idiots.

She grinned undeterred at the challenge and proudly effused, "And I have had her for a lifetime."

Her previous query was all but forgotten; all Gabrielle wanted now was to be the **dominant, the right.** The youth's gaze detracted briefly from her opponent as a certain semi bushy-haired Head Girl came into her field of vision. Hermione glanced fleetingly towards Gabby's direction, meeting the younger Veela's eyes; it was obvious to the youth that the Muggle recognized Bill, but didn't want to approach. But moreso, Hermione seemed unsure of crossing the young Veela's path.

As well she should be wary… 

Her recent memory suddenly conjured Fleur and Hermione in that bed, and that _look_ Gabby caught unmistakably in her sister's gaze – She recognized it for what is was, because she had witnessed it within everyone's errant gaze that ever looked at her sister. Now a more important facet faced Gabrielle.Again, her mind switched tracks.

It took a little while to get used to the idea of sharing Fleur with another person. Let alone dealing with the loss of her sister to London's debauchery. Gabrielle would not accept any more undue interventions in her young life. The fourteen year old refused to acknowledge Hermione and returned her attention towards Bill.

But she needed to know the one thing that was _hinted _at; it was an impossible truth whispering to her in the back of her mind all day long about Fleur…And the only thing she would not swallow.

"What makes you think you know Fleur better than me?"

"Tons of reasons," he gloated in reply.

She smiled sweetly, nudging her foot for effective purposes against his own, "So tell me…"

Hermione by then lowered her eyes and departed the causeway of the corridor, moving out of Gabrielle's view.

"Just give me **one** good reason."

Bill bought the bait…Gabrielle stood motionless watching his animated face regale for a few minutes, the instance of the reasons. One worse than the previous; the sole thing she was concerned of was then affirmed. She fought to have every fiber in her to remain collected. Her pride was at stake. As she studied the man before her, the youth felt her insides twist; bile pooled in the back of her throat. She wanted nothing more than to spit on this…this…_animal._ She was vaguely aware that Bill had stopped in his prose, whether she began to walk away then was an entirely involuntary reaction – she had been sick to her stomach, thinking that this was a man she had…feelings for. Luckily it was just a crush – an insignificant feeling that was snuffed out as easily as one kills a candle lit flame.

"Hey…!"

He was speaking to her. Gabrielle turned about, her gaze expressionless, "…yes?"

"Lost your common courtesy Penguin? Ain't you gonna say thanks an' g'bye, love ya Bill?"

She looked him over, inwardly wincing at that vile nickname. Gabrielle saw him amount to nothing more to her now other than being a gigolo – a sad but true fact. If that was the truth he uttered to her, the young Veela had her work cut out. In this instance, on this day – Gabrielle took it upon herself to reclaim, retain and cleanse the once proud French lineage of the DeLacour Family. Dimly, she smiled.

"Good bye m'sieur Weasley. If I see you again, it will be too soon."

He gave her a questioning glance, one that she refused to answer and made her way from the corridor.

_How could you let yourself fall so far? Doesn't our name mean anything to you?_

'_Of course it does Gabrielle, and you'll make sure it does…won't you? The pride that name reverberates…If she doesn't, YOU'LL fix it.'_

The faint whisper was barely audible among the tinny of voices erupting about her. But she had heard it. And she nodded in reply to it – as if…in a trance. Things needed to be done. Her glance traveled then towards the Great Hall where she knew Fleur would be waiting for their late lunch date. Her sister will have to forgive her for missing lunch; her mind whirled into action – the emotions that were burning in her wouldn't be quelled.

A confrontation would be inevitable with Fleur. She realized the consequences but didn't comprehend why there would be. Fleur had to have seen how this revelation would have affected her; she didn't know now how to regard her sister as…Heroine? Savior?…Whore?

She shook her head. Fleur was family, the only family that was worth a damn…and she'll make sure, her sister won't forget it either.

- - - -

He stood like a solemn sentry watching over a throng of youths hulking over their steaming projects. Columns of pungent smoke lingered about the torch lit dungeon, which served as a place of academia. There were instances of frantic hand waving before their faces, a vain, futile attempt to be rid of the stench.

Were he susceptible to it, surely he would have been just as taken aback by the horrific nature of the liquid that was currently being stewed – Ultimately, it smelled of human excrement and excreted animal glands. But Serevus Snape could have cared less. His stomach was iron clad, and his emotions just as concrete. Snape betrayed nothing of himself making him the most intimidating Professor in Hogwarts' history.

"Twenty-five minutes," he commented dryly. Ladles anxiously stirred.

The obsidian pools of the Professor's gaze fixated on a student who had begun to retch involuntarily.

"Should you feel IT necessary, recall that there are tin pails graced at every station-"

His gaze unforgiving, rested on a very wan looking Neville Longbottom, "-USE them. For if I should find one iota of liquid other than this project spilled on my floor, I'll have you bloody lick it off."

He was already in a fickle mood, and his meeting at the beginning of the week with that ginger haired imbecile of a Weasley, bore nothing but an agreement to hate one another. In the end, though it was unnamed by words – They wanted _her_ for their own tortuous pleasure; if only to watch her from afar and defile her name in the middle of the night with their own carnal imaginations.

Fleur-

_That magnificent, sinewy, temptress…_

- Was the only candidate suited for this unique task.

…_Wicked, dangerous and one that wouldn't give you the time of day, Snape. But in your dreams…_

The Professor turned about, staring off in the distance, pinioning his beady eyes on a domicile in the Northern Courtyard. Things were getting worse in Hogwarts, these sinful emotions were nearly too much to handle. He hated being succumbing to these desires. Angrily, he lashed out once more.

"This is 50 percent of your final grade…I will accept nothing BUT the best."

Worried sobs were choked out. Among them was Ron's own grave voice, which now sounded remarkably like a mouse-squeak. Regaining his composure, the Quidditch player felt the burrowing eyes of his sexual partner resting on him; a casual glance over his broad shoulder affirmed that suspicion. It was a few days since he and Parvati consummated their affair – an affair of bodies. She was there to quell his animalistic urges to rut. And no one knew the better. Save for a few select comrades. Like the one he currently leaned towards and conspiratorially said:

"Is it just me, or is it possible th'ol'bloke's gotten nastier?" Ron then pondered, "Maybe he just needs t'get snogged."

"We aren't all us lucky y'bastard," the brown, bowl cut haired youth asided, "Will y'be seein' Parvati t'night then?"

"Maybe not."

"Think I could 'ave me soma o'that actio-"

"-Then again maybe I will be," Ron quickly stated.

"Well then, what say I keep 'Ermione comp'ny?"

"That you're outta you're flippin' mind. You forget she's _my_ girl."

"Y'can't 'ave it both ways all th'time."

"Says you."

The Irish lad that he spoke to - Seamus Finnegan – shook, garnering a cutting glance of silence from the Professor. But Ron easily averted any roused problem by having lobbed his gaze expectantly towards his left at an empty seat; the teenager had a sudden urge to see a reprimanding stare. It was Hermione's assigned seat. His lips thinned. It had been the second time this week in as many classes that the Muggle hadn't appeared. On a project day, she was never ever late; Christ, she was never late for anything dealing with grades. Her poor lab partner – Neville – looked as if he'd lost his wits….but not as much as he'd lost his lunch.

Ron's face went rubbery at the sight.

"Ten minutes," alerted Professor Snape.

Suddenly…The Proffesor was prompted to halt in his resolute trek by the unmistakable sound of the rusted metal ring on the classroom door; it had groaned open in protest announcing a visitor. Those able to see through the haze paused in curiosity, glancing from their hunched positions.

With the door given wide berth, some of the smoke-ridden air had escaped. The girl entered unaware of what scene she'd just caused in the dank Dungeon classroom, the immense door took its time in closing, and allowed whatever ray of sunlight bathe its occupants. It garnered their first view of this intruder. She shrugged her robes from her slender form, giving her the freedom to roll her perfectly pressed and regulated blouse-sleeves to be rolled up into a haphazard manner; tucking casually at the crook of her elbow. The first glint of her golden flesh was afforded. Her hair was loosely braided and…illustriously tinted with highlights of blonde. Before the first rays of soft-luminescence graduated to her features….the room was once more dimmed.

Neville had been beside himself. As the young woman rounded their lab table and awkwardly flung his arms about the Muggle. She loosed a lopsided smile, before letting her arms lax about the Wizard in return.

"How kind of you in deciding to grace us with your presence, Miss Granger," oozed Snape. "Thirty points from Gryffindor."

An outward cry of displeasure was rumbled from Gryffindor House, while Slytherin laughed at their dismay.

The Head Girl offered no apology or showed signs of any regret for her sudden disturbance; a wall of unlaughing Gryffindor eyes glowered at her. This was not the Hermione they knew, the girl would have stated a reason for her tardiness, rebuffed it in some way; instead, she had paid no heed and begun to quietly instruct Neville to pass the required herbs. Eagerly complying, the Wizard set to work.

Ron hadn't realized that his were not the only eyes that became glued on the Muggle.

Tucked in a far off nook, the Slytherin Prince callously raked his intense gaze over Hermione.

Daggers were spewing from Parvati's gaze.

Harry found his spectacles worthless as they kept sliding from the perch of his nose.

It had only been three days of not seeing Hermione since the night of the assembly. No one had a clue where she had been.

He was never apart from her for that long. She was now in the flesh, and just a few feet from him that Ron found he sincerely missed her presence. The young woman glanced upward – her hazel flecked eyes were hooded, not betraying her thoughts in any way - and met his gaze. Purposely or not, Hermione nibbled on her lower lip before turning away – there was a look in her eye that was fleeting, that if there was more time, he would have deciphered it. As it stood…

She suddenly seemed unpredictable…foreign. Tempting…

"Ron." A pause, followed by a more forcefully stated, "RON."

He blinked and looked towards his right, Parvati had been standing there, with a kerchief in hand.

"I asked if I could have some Astragalus."

The query turned out to be more of a command as she remained rooted in front of Ron's field of vision. He rose from his seat, using his height to his advantage. Parvati's breath had caught – She immediately felt the rawness, the heat that Ron produced. He stared down at her, his eyes were implacable. They were telling her she did something wrong.

In a twisted manner, it excited Parvati.

Ron's gaze never wavered, but his calloused hand pawed at a batch of freshly cut herbs – much to Seamus' Irish garbled protests -

"'At's our effen stash, man! OCH! Y'fuggin…."

…and dropped them abruptly onto Parvati's open kerchief, she barely managed a word out. A grunt was proffered instead; stalking off, she began muttering threats – consisting of withholding sex from the eternally hormone engraged Weasley. Ron hadn't heard her.

His eyes had drifted back towards the Muggle. Hermione had been oblivious to most things that stirred about her. Including Ron's need to be acknowledged – His ire blossomed. He had a right to be seen, he had a right to have been told where the hell she was, he _had this right_. Ron wouldn't accept being put out.

He tossed a glance towards the slab of his shared table and off handedly pointed out, "Ey, Seamus. We ran out of Astragalus…"

Seamus looked up, mopping the irritability off his face, "No shit? 'Ow th'fuck d'ya reckon tha' 'appened…."

Ron furrowed his brow looking at his lab-partner; he couldn't understand why Seamus was so…aggravated. He motioned with a tip of his head towards Hermione and Neville, "I'll jus' ask them for some."

The Irish Wizard motioned forth with a sweep of his hands, "Go right a'ead, mate," and offered in a hushed tone to no one save himself "– I 'ope she slaps the shit outta ye."

His stride carried him briskly across the room. But as he arrived at his destination, Snape had summoned the muggle. As Hermione eased passed Ron, he was immediately bathed by a fragrance he couldn't place. It was sweet, it was stimulating. Before he let the moment shuffle by, he called out to her.

"Hey," he paused briefly only long enough to run his thick digits through his hair – as if that alone would make her swoon. She barely gave pause in her stride and only offered a hint of a smile hidden in her eyes as a reply. Before long Hermione stood before Snape, her head held aloft. The Hermione Granger that he knew was still resident – her obtuse, and determined side.

Yet…She wasn't at the same time.

Stifling a growl of frustration, Ron lopped towards Neville. "I need some 'erbs."

Neville had been the quiet factor in Hogwarts, there was a value of being seen and not being heard – He preferred it that way, there was a time though that the quiet Wizard would have gone to bat for his comrades. At least before those rumors began to spread in Gryffindor's common room, rumors he didn't want to believe. Hermione had been the first to befriend the introvert their first year. No one could blame him for having a special place in his being for the brown haired intellect. He made it his own personal cause to be that silent pillar, should she ever need him. In the meantime – he would remain at her side, watching from a distance.

Ron now stood before him.

_Ron Weasley's a good guy, he wouldn't do that to 'Ermione… Don't believe th'rumors, Nev_. Unfortunately, his first instincts said otherwise.

Quietly he lowered his gaze back towards the sputtering cauldron.

"If I've got what y'want. Then," he shrugged.

"Charitable of you, Nev," Ron mused then murmured as his attention was steadily pull towards Hermione, "…Yeah…y'got what I want." His glance returned to the table, "'Erb wise that is."

Neville scrutinized Ron's words in his mind and found that he didn't understand, nor like the freckled Quidditch player's tone. Ron grinned adding, "Say…Did ah…she," he motioned with a cant of his head towards the Muggle, "y'know, say anythin' 'bout me? Or where she's been?"

The wizard continued slow stirring and chuckled to himself. She hadn't said anything, "No, nothin'…nothin' 'bout _you_ anyways," he couldn't disguise the grin that clung to his words. Hastily Neville continued, "..Jus' that she's been workin' with a friend on a project is all. Reckon it's pretty important."

Ron grabbed a few roots from some of Neville's bowls and clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. There was an indignant tone in the fiery haired wizard's tone as he replied with the cursory thanks. Neville simply bobbed his head in acknowledgement and Ron left.

Lifting his eyes Neville regarded the Head Girl as she returned from that impromptu meeting with Snape.

"Y'dinnae get in trouble did you?...Ah good. Wussat?...He said that? For who? An' why...I thought you din't like 'er. …Is she really? No no…I'm sorry, y'just got this look on your face is all…It's sorta…I dunno, hard t'explain. But aye…she's, WOW. Don't know 'er though, I'll take your word for it, jus' that she's a drop dead looker…Me? 'Ermione, don't think she likes th'younger guys. Sides, she's got Bill Weasley, dun she? … Really? Doesn't talk about him much? Ah, privacy's a big thing, yeah…Wussat?...Really? Do you think I'll be…you know, good for that position? Thank y'for the vote in confidence…yeah, means a great lot…Dance? Och please 'Ermione, I'll 'elp with settin' it up, but no no…these left feet are retired…You will! A'right, I'll save a spot on me dance card jus' for you."

- - - -

"You're not with him…so, why don't we-"

"Not interested."

"C'mon, it'll be worth the effort."

She laughed. A mirthless laugh.

"We don't _have_ to fu-"

Ginny rounded on her latest suitor and hissed, "I bloody fucking _dare _you to finish that sentence," Her eyes were fire and brimstone incarnate; "You want some _bangtail?_ Call the Patils you fucking _wanker_."

Then a soft - albeit devoid of emotion - interjection was offered, "I could…?" Luna remarked, her head bent towards her upside down periodical before raising her incredibly perceptive eyes on the young man before them. "I was once told that I have exceptional ora-"

"Luna!"

"Fill-in-the-blank, skills," censored Luna.

She then blinked furtively towards the beauteous and ever popular red-head after the unnamed boy sprung away from the two young women. Ginny though thankful, hand her hand covering the majority of her face, peering through the splayed digits at her oddball friend. The grin disappeared which was replaced by a tap of a frown.

"Boo. Hiss and Jeer. Do you suppose that's why I _can't_ get a date – I would have thought boys enjoyed a _straight-forward­_ woman such as I.", the comment was delivered with a touch of helpless wonder.

Slinking an arm about Luna's shoulders, the taller female pulled her into a loose embrace. Ginny knew that this was as close to showing sadness as Luna had ever gotten. She pulled back suddenly as the Potions class had finally come to an end. The door violently swung opened and amidst the billowing glob of smoke that spewed from the Dungeon, there was an array of hand waving and coughs.

Ron and Harry were among the first to escape the class.

"Over here," called Ginny.

They followed the sound of her voice, still sniffling and coughing. Luna smiled, offering her usual inflection of admiration towards Ron by means of a 'hello', he countered with a cautious smile.

Luna was pleased with that.

Cleaning his spectacles, Harry glanced at the two now blurred women and asked, "Where'd you two come from?"

"Madame Pomfrey's."

Harry replaced his spectacles upon the bridge of his nose, before Ginny shook her head and eased herself forth. She had absently begun to push the boy wonder's scraggly bangs from his eyes, licking the pad of her thumb and rubbing a smudge of soot from his face. He smiled. And she continued her prose as she pressed the wrinkled lapels of his collar down. They insolently resisted.

"Tell me you two had forgotten about Lavender Brown?"

Then it dawned on them. Lavender had suddenly taken ill – it was whispered that she looked as if death had visited her.

"'Ow could we forget 'er? She wasn't all right in the head you know."

Ginny stared at her brother. Harry shook his head.

"What? What'd I say? Innit true though?"

"We went to see she was getting along," murmured the auburn topped Witch. The note in her timbre was weighted, almost pained. "She's…Madame Pomfrey wouldn't allow us to stay longer than necessary, as we were disturbing her rest."

"Oh…!" Luna edged out. It grabbed the attentions of all parties. Ginny followed her friend's line of sight.

The smoke had dwindled revealing the tail end of the fleeing students of Professor Snape's class. Before the four of them a scene had unfold. Parvati accidentally collided into another girl in knee high sock and the robes that everyone was regulated to wear, hung limply at her folded arms. Her tie was loose and blouse unbuttoned a tad, which almost made it seem…indecent. Both the exotic Gryffindor and the resolute Muggle faced one another. No words were said, but somehow…a gauntlet of challenge had been thrown in how they parted ways.

"Her…mione?"

The Muggle paused and slowly turned her gaze towards Ginny. Hermione held her head aloft and left every available emotion pour from her. They were emotions that only the other witch could read. And the young Weasley choked on every accusatory insinuation being formulated in those cocoa eyes that she had sworn to protect, they screamed those unsaid words: _You knew, didn't you?_

Pivoting on a planted heel, Hermione quietly took her leave after having shared a few words with Neville. Ginny broke into a run tailing the muggle who didn't exactly hurry from her. The auburn haired Witch took her chance.

"Hermione wait. God, _please_ wait!"

It was desperation that forced Ginny's hand forth grabbing Hermione at the crook of her arm. The latter twisted violently away from her and Neville quickly wedged himself between the two. It gave Hermione enough time to make her escape.

"Gin…Gin…Ginny _no!_" Neville urged quietly, "She told me she can't talk to you…not yet, she thought she could. Give 'er time."

"Nev…it…it wasn't my fault," she helplessly pleaded, "Please, could you just...TELL her, please!"

The wizard didn't acknowledge, he felt helpless because he didn't understand what happened. He slipped a hand into his pocket then lowered his head. Behind her, Ginny heard the footfall of Harry, Luna and her brother.

"Why'd y'do that…" Ron's voice, it was accusatory. Ron's idiotic prose. "Dija apologize? After all, she finally shows up an' y'go an' piss 'er off."

She boiled then wheeled on her brother. Ginny eyed him with such resentment that even Luna was taken aback by its passion; she had never seen her friend in such a light. She turned away groping for a semblance of sanity to keep herself calm.

Being afraid of her brother was no longer an option, but before Ginny was able to launch her fists into her brother's smug face, Harry and Neville restrained her.

Ron had no clue what just happened and gawked. In her final heat of rage, she spat out her hate for him:

"Fuck off and _die_, Ron."

- - - -

There was a tender sound as the book upon her vanity gently clopped closed for the night. Though Hermione's eyes were tired from the deluge of written words being flung at her, she realized that her mind hadn't absorbed any of them. In vain she had been trying to read the first paragraph, but barely made it out alive from the first sentence.

Annoyed by how a simplistic task turned difficult, she pressed a thumb between her now creased brows, "As if that would help, you blasted idiot."

Helplessly, her body slumped back until it came flushed to the back rest of her chair. Hermione acknowledged silently, that her ever astute mind had drifted far from her reality. It traveled past Ginny's imploring eyes.

_Ginny…_ her best friend, was pained just as much as she was. And Hermione found that she couldn't look at her, that she couldn't speak with her. She had wanted so desperately to _hate_ Ginny as much as she _knew_ she needed to hate Ron.

But no – She was still ever so hopelessly in love with the Weasleys. Ron above all. Hating them, being angry with them was a waste of her energy. It would have eaten her alive. She had resolutely sworn to herself that she was better than that and would _show_ them how much. She would reinvent herself and earn their respect.

The _whys_ of everything…_Why_ they hid, _Why_ he had to seek solace in another's arms, _Why_…_Why…Why?_ Hermione felt that she failed to understand. She only knew, in their eyes, she hadn't measured up.

_He could have to fall in love with me again. It was my fault for being bland in the first place…_

The loneliness of her room began to swallow her…slowly Hermione pulled her listless frame forward, as if trying to break from its impending grasp. She felt the streak of wetness fall from its lofty perch. Her tongue had slipped passed her lips and tasted the tang of salt.

"Crying," murmured the Head Girl finishing with a scoff, "You sad piece of flesh."

Irritably she stood, using the back of her hand to wipe the excess liquid from her eyes; she began to pace her room. Hermione glanced expectantly at the timepiece graced upon her slim wrist and felt her nerves awaken with an anticipatory surge. The luminescent face pulsed a time of 9:55pm. Quickly her feet whisked her to her window.

She realized her room was alight with candles and immediately summoned her wand, drawing its tip close to her lips. Gently she blew and the candles about her waned. Across the grand vista of the courtyard below, Hermione saw it lit by the intensity of the new moon. It seemed straight out of a fairy tale.

But not more so than the elegant figure that crossed its immense face. Her lips quirked into a faint smile; she watched the cloaked figure for a moment before whirling about and grabbed her own robes. It was curfew, and only meant that everyone needed to be in their Houses. People could be loitering about in the Common Room.

She didn't care.

As expected there was the usual cliques lingering. The dominant topic being conversed tonight: Lavender Brown. Her stomach lurched. But as she made her way from the depths of the shadows and there was an instantaneous quiet that draped the room; she would be the next topic of those looting gossipers. At the corner of her eye she caught the signature red huddled in a corner. It was either Ron or Ginny. That was all she knew and would only acknowledge TO know.

Quick strides brought her to the exit – brought her to freedom. Quicker still, she found herself bathed by the cool night air. As with the previous two nights, Hermione easily made her way to the aged entry way of the Northern Wing. And for the third night, the Muggle pressed her forehead against the cold surface of the wooden door. Her glance fell to the knob. She reached for it and whispered a soft prayer that it wouldn't be locked.

A sigh of relief escaped her body as she heard the welcoming click. As Hermione entered the foyer, she felt her lungs fill with the warmth of the room. It was then she realized she had begun to breathe normally.

Giving a casual roll of her shoulders the robe slipped from her body. Hastily she gathered the article.. Then the sound of the first notes of a song began to drift aimlessly about the whole abode. She recognized the soft tinny of a muted trumpet and the tender basso of a cello. _Jazz –I would have never thought…_ She chuckled, there was still _so_ much to learn, so much to _know_ of the mistress of this domicile.

Her eyes drew in the ambiance of the room as her lips formed a smile at the sound of the footsteps just in the next room. Here she felt detached from the cruelties of her Hogwarts world. Here…she felt safe. Here…she was _herself._

She set aside her robe, and pressed her hands upon her still uniform clad body. Hermione lifted her head in the most arrogant manner she could summon. The Muggle cleared her throat and offered the first words of their now common greeting as she rounded the entryway towards the inner den…

"And here I thought the French were inept to recognize good mu…"

Her voice was cut short as it caught at the pit of her throat.

Fleur sat at the edge of a lounging sofa, one leg slung over the other outstretched one; clad in a silk bathrobe – just as the first night she came. It was draped about her body, leaving little to one's imagination, the robe did nothing but accentuate the femininity of the Veela who had just gotten out of a bath. It was almost lewd, but Hermione couldn't _stop _looking…Admiring. Her lips parted and allowed to hear the ragged nature of her breathing.

The Veela's posture was a marriage of a woman of fortitude and delicateness. Her head was lowered, as her right hand administered to a calf muscle. The kneading motion of the woman's perfectly manicured fingers worked the robe open, lending an unprecedented view of the Veela's toned leg that mercifully ended at the junction of her thigh and hip. Fleur's hair was damp and clung desperately upon any naked flesh the enchantress bore; from the gentle slope of her neck, to the hidden valley between her breasts. Breasts that when the woman finally righted herself, was full and with every slight breath Fleur took, lifted and pushed her nipples against the thin fabric.

Hermione screwed her eyes shut and turned away, trying to regain their greeting jibes. "…inept….to recognize good music."

A soft laughter made its way passed those gently blushed lips. "Ah, ma chere – we French do…" She rose from her position, drawing Hermione's gaze back to her. Fleur had closed the gap that rested between them in a few strides. For a time…the muggle didn't know how long…the Veela stood looking at her. Hermione felt naked under the intensity of Fleur's eyes. She was vividly aware of the music…and the words that accompanied it.

'_You give your hand to me…_

_And then you say hello.'_

"…Except zat British noise," it was a coy reply, she continued to smirk in aristocratic arrogance before offering a softer greeting, "Bon soir."

'_And I can hardly speak…_

_my heart is beating so.'_

"Hi," murmured Hermione then followed as Fleur stepped back into the room. She inhaled deeply and reprimanded her body, her mind could not comprehend why it seized that way…Because there would be no possible way…that. No.

"I…I think it may work." She watched Fleur pause as her back was turned to her. The Veela was amidst stirring a drink for the both of them.

"It should," Fleur replied suddenly, turning about with a raised brow to accentuate her words, which seemed forced to Hermione, "You are taking lessons from moi, no? 'Ee will be yours once more in every way you wish."

'_No you don't know the one…_

_Who dreams of you at night…'_

Hermione gave a laugh, "You're so sure about yourself."

Her eyes lowered towards the fireplace, but she felt the heat of _her_ presence. Hermione's body once more reacted, as if with a mind of its own, it screamed in muted silence: _touch me…. _Instead, the Veela offered the drink and the muggle glanced upward. She felt…disappointment but murmured thanks to the offer.

"Oui," she kittenishly smiled, "If there is one person that I am sure about – it 'az to be moi. It iz a dog-eat-dog world, ma chere. And when it 'ow you say, 'boils down to it'…the only person you _can _trust, iz yourself, no?" A casual shrug was giving to the youth. "Besides…"

Fleur eased herself from Hermione, letting her frame come in contact with the sofa's arm rest…slowly, she draped her form against it, canting her head to the right; she allowed a few stray bangs obscure her stormy gaze.

"I am fairly sure…that we both know where my talents lay."

Hermione nipped at her drink and chuckled affording a few droplets to trickle from her lips. "If I hadn't known better, m'lle DeLacour – I have it on good mind, that…"

Fleur arched a brow, in daring.

"…You are flirting with me."

'And longs to kiss your lips… 

_And longs to hold you tight…'_

Silence.

The tune gently continued to play behind them. The Veela had not stopped looking at her. Hermione had tried to gauge Fleur's features. Panic soon followed, it burned through Hermione's mind. She wasn't thinking, she shouldn't have said that. Her mind knew better…but the words her lips uttered, were said without effort. As if they needed to _be _said, as if they'd belong there and all Hermione had to do was acknowledge them audibly. _But_…

She hoped that Fleur knew it was a jest. Wasn't it?

With a slight curve of her lips and a slow inclination of her head as her eyes drifted towards the moonlit night out of her vestibule, Fleur replied softly:

"And if I were?"

Hermione had forced the laughter from her lips. But it came too soon. And sounded too harsh. Demurely, her hand cupped her mouth stifling her offered apology as well. Fleur had risen from her prone position and moved to the wet-bar. Hermione followed her with her eyes – she felt the dread seep into her frame. Hastily, the Muggle fought for words that…were devoid of emotion.

"It…it would be impossible. I mean…That's a good joke," she accompanied that with a curt chuckle, "Besides…we know my…_our…_preferences." Hermione took a healthy swig of her drink, murmuring desperately to herself; hoping to reaffirm her commitment, "I _love_ Ron…I…"

Fleur whirled about after refilling her half emptied chalice, lifting it in toast, "To…good jokes…To…"

'_Oh, I'm just a friend,_

_That's all I ever am;_

'_Cause you don't know me…'_

"To our _friendship_. Because that is all we 'ave." Fleur tipped the rim of her glass to her lips downing the contents in one easy mouthful.

Hermione stood, with her body pressed to the cool stone of the fireplace. The warmth should have engulfed her. But as she watched Fleur and searched her eyes…it felt as if _nothing _could offer that warmth she sought.

Quietly…the song faded and only the grating noise of the needle and vinyl reached her ears.

- - - -

_Teaser:_

_They stood before one another both knowing there was no way to fight the merging of Crystalline Blue and Deep Hazel. Fleur lifted the glass from Hermione's hand and offered a faint smile. Her lips parted taking in the remainder of the Muggle's unfinished drink. Hermione's gaze lowered and was transfixed with the gentle rise and fall of Fleur's chest. _

_Setting aside the empty glass, Fleur murmured, "Turn."_

_Hermione looked to her questioningly. _

_In swift motion, Fleur had invaded the muggle's personal space, a hand was placed upon the younger woman's hip, and the other lifted the girl's curtain of hair, irresistibly, the teen was drawn into the elder woman's arms. Fleur lowered her head allowing her lips the privilege of almost tasting Hermione's supple flesh – a sinful torture - and slowly eased the teen about._

"_Turn," came another…softer command from Fleur. The muggle complied._

_Hermione's back was gently pressed against Fleur's body; the muggle fought to quiet a moan that ached to be ripped from her throat. She felt Fleur's heart beat joining with her own erratic one – it tamed it; she felt the Veela's breasts push against her back before the pressure of the woman's firm leg slipped between her own. But nothing…nothing was more intoxicating was when she felt the heat between her thighs erupt in a moist assault, all at the breathless utterance of Fleur's following words, flowing over the nape of her neck:_

"…_Melt into me."_

- - - -

a/n: I know you all must despise fillers and this could rank among the worst…I promise to make it up with an installment that will be worth your time. For those willing enough to leave comments/suggestions…Thanks, and those who quietly watch from the shadows, I hope you're enjoying it. FYI: since I rushed this, aside it being not one of my better wordsmithing times, I neglected to edit. My sincerest apologies.

a/n2: The song is an actual jazz/swing piece: _"You Don't Know Me" – Michael Buble'_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Six.**_

There was no cheery outburst of _hello _that echoed in the warmth of the common room, not even the sound of concentrated scribbling on reams of parchment, or the frantic prose of:

'_God I think I utterly decimated my chances on this test!…The mixture wasn't at the right consistency!…Oh…I did? I REALLY did! I PASSED Ginny, look!'_

She russet haired witch peeled her head from off the top of a cherry wood desk she had situated herself at. Ginny looked around helplessly, expectantly. Only to find the curious gaze of first and second years peering intermittently at her – the upperclassmen were too busy exchanging conspiracy theories regarding the absentees, Lavender Brown and Professor McGonagall.

That daydream felt too real. She thought she had heard _her_, her opposite and her best friend. Then in little more than a blink of an eye, something in her stirred from those repetitious thoughts.

Ginny shook her head suddenly guilty of herself and more so of how her body reacted. "You will not _acknowledge_ that."

As if it were hot on the tails of that memory that familiar timbre sounded – but it was hurried, putting a stop to those who took to the harsh sss'ing of gossip whisperers. Hermione appeared from the east wing of the room, the one that led straight to the lonely tower occupied by the former Head Boys and Girls of Gryffindor.

'_Excuse me, please…out of the way.'_

Her gaze easily found the Head Girl who breezed through the room, sparing no look towards Ginny – or if there was, Hermione made sure not to allude to the fact she knew the red-head was there. In her hurried wake, the rumormongering reached fever pitched velocities. And all beginning to pool around the Gryffindor girl that just left.

A deep crinkle of her normally carefree features formed between her sculpted brows. It was said that Ginny Weasley could very well be the next prefect-Head-Girl for Gryffindor. Witty, likeable, and insanely attractive. There were times she used those particular attributes to her advantage to get what she needed or wanted. Why not? _'If you've got it, flaunt it.' _No shame in that. But above all that materialistic whoring she did, one honorable thing remained in tact. The need to defend Hermione and it came out naturally.

"Will you all just **bloody** nail your flaps together! Like that were the _only_ troubles in your piss poor lives…"

The lull was predictable – at least for a moment.

"You don't have any authority here, Weasley. We will talk about whomsoever we please, including your _former_ friend." There was a pause above the still-quiet, "Who I hear…has taken quite the, ah, special interest in our new headmistress"

The younger crowd exchange unsure and puzzled glances. The upper tiers murmured knowingly. Everyone had seen the initial meeting between the pair in their house. Outside it became a fascinating spectacle for the whole school…Hermione and Fleur was a phrase that was becoming a gradual link, even above the sudden metamorphosis of the Bookish Girl Wonder.

Ginny rose from her seat, raking her fingers through her hair in aggravation; she had not bothered to hide the red rim that dressed her eyes. She speared her eyes dead on to the source – Parvati stood in the center of the room, lit by the flames that licked her face. She probably had just returned from the medical wing. For Parvati hardly looked the part of seductress, instead seemed more banshee-like; wiry-framed and bug-eyed, reasoned Ginny. The tall Quidditch chaser stalked towards her prey and burrowed her gaze evenly on Parvati.

"I have more authority than some home grown sluts that tromp around hoping to earn favors with their worn _snatches_." Her eyes flicked dangerously, "As far as I hear, Parvie…that _is_ all you're good for innit?" Ginny lowered her voice, "I warn you now…you had best hold your tongue about her." She hated Parvati Patil, hated her to no end. This was the girl that twisted Ginny's world.

Parvati leaned forth and hissed, "Oh please…I think you about shot to the top of that Bookworm's list of most _vile_ and wicked…", the reply was smug, and held truth. The Indian witch continued, "And you shouldn't look too far, Ginny." She lowered her eyes towards the russet haired girl's nether region, "As much as the thought of carrying Ronnie's baby gives me warm fuzzies…At least _I _used protection with my man, _mum._" Ginny's face faulted and Parvati clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "We're one and the same you and I – But I wasn't stupid enough to get myself knocked u--"

"Might I sugges' tha' you not finish tha' statement, there Parvati – I 'ave mind enough te knock your teeth out if y'do."

Both girls broke the tethered look they shared on one another. Looking past Parvati's shoulder, Ginny was surprised to see Neville – his face was slowly edging away from those baby-fat years; he smiled pleasantly, but the most surprising feature were his eyes. They were pinioned on Parvati's form. His gaze was hard and intolerant though his voice was wrought with a sort of light jocularity.

Ginny heard Parvati scoff, "Growing a little backbone Neville?… The way your gran-mum raised you, I can't imagine you being able to bring yourself to shit on an ant. Don't even consider hurting a lady…"

He had a package clutched in his right hand and preceded to tuck the brown-bag under his arm, before guiding his hands into the depths of his slack pockets. Conspiratorially, Neville leaned forward. With a smile on his face he replied:

"No…no you're right, I wouldna do tha' to a lady. So what does 'at make _you_?"

As if she were saved the embarrassment of the situation, the door to the common room swung open pulling the attention from the three and towards the door. It heralded Ron's arrival. Parvati immediately spirited her way towards him. The Weasley siblings cared very little in acknowledging the other's presence. Ginny was glad that Neville had ran interference, he then lead her away and towards a tucked nook of the room.

"You alright then?" Neville questioned quietly, offering her a seat.

Ginny's lips quirked while she looked at her fellow Gryffindor. He stared dumbly back at her. But before she could comment, the high-pitched whinny of Parvati erupted. She glanced backward and found her brother throwing his hands up in the air and the git-of-a-witch bounding out of the room.

"Reckon it's true. 'bout Ron and 'Mione," Neville's comment was more of an absent after-thought than a question.

Ginny dared not look at Neville. Instead her eyes drifted towards the package that was still nestled under his arm. He must have felt her eyes on him, because the wizard stated in proud fashion, "…it's a lil project I been workin' on."

"Oh? Give it here..."

"You'll think I'm'a twit." He chuckled and added quickly, "Don't bother t'shake your 'ead, Gin – I know what category I'm lumped in. Th' geeks an' freeks."

She brought her form to rest at the edge of her seat, and reached out for his hands, but paused in reflection. The teen couldn't very well say, _trust me, I wouldn't do that to a friend._ She voided that right the moment she decided to turn a blind eye to her brother's activities.

_Blood is thicker than water._ That was force-fed crap.

"Do you really think I'd do that," answered Ginny. _That's right, pass the buck, have others judge you._

Neville squeezed her hands, "No. Not you. You've been nothing but tried and true."

She gave a fragile smile. That was even worse – people believing in you when you know otherwise. Ginny's stomach lurched. She could taste the bile rising from of her stomach. But she didn't move – her body felt too heavy. Not that Neville noticed. He had dug out the contents of the brown paper bag and gave a grunt.

She looked at him questioningly.

What spilled from the bag, at least from what Ginny could discern were terracotta colored pieces. Some were bigger, while others were shattered beyond recognition. She furrowed her brows, "pieces, Neville…Broken pieces?"

He chuckled and gave a shallow nod, "Summat. Broken _clay_ pieces." Neville eased out the main body, and Ginny then realized it was part of a larger sculpture that looked beyond repair. But what she could grasp was basically a creation of extreme talent and beauty. It was a Babylonian styled bust. Medium sized; it was crafted with careful hands.

"It…it's looking a tad rough…Do you think you can fix it?"

"I ought to think I can, yeah. After all…I made the blasted thing."

"You…you what?" She sat there astounded.

His neck turned pink from mortification. Absently Neville began to rub the heated flesh. "Uh, yeah. Real crude an' all, I know, but it's a 'obby o'mine aside from 'Erbology. Yeah. Thought it could teach me uh, y'know…steady 'ands and more concentration. Fact, Professor McGonagall suggested I take it up 'fore she uh, well…well you know."

Ginny quietly nodded.

"This is brilliant, Nev. I mean that." The red head cradled the one large piece before eyeing the rest of the shattered parts on the table before them. "So much though…"

"Yeah, but the great thing about clay pieces," began the mop-top haired wizard, "They were born from nature and come with their own healin' factor, y'know." Neville grinned, oblivious to the confused look he garnered from Ginny and continued, unshaken.

"Mum Nature may get all flustered, tearin' things up like she does…But there isn't a force strong enough that'd destroy what She made, y'know – not even 'erself. Always a reason for 'er tirade, most o'the times, it means She aims t'change things up a lil."

"Bloody 'ell - Lotta times, the change is for the best. Makes a thing stronger. The strongest there is, I think, are these here clay pieces; I mean…y'get t'thinking they may be the most fragile things in th'world, yeah?"

"But deep in'em they're the same as they always been…Been reliable throughout 'istory. Nothin' but a lil care is all tha's needed t'fix these puppies up. Watch."

Transfixed, the witch witnessed Neville pull out his wand and said the incantation for summoning water in a container. Pleased that the spellcasting worked the first time, he dipped a few fingers into the container, wetting the pads of his digits liberally. He coddled the largest piece in one hand, and then with his coated fingers, he gently mended cracks on the Clay Piece's once tranquil surface.

As he handed her the piece, Ginny found herself quiet – struck dumbfounded at the gravity of what was occurring at this moment. She studied Neville's face and let loose a soft laugh as she was met with his concerned glance. This had been the oddest, but most effective form of consolation she'd ever gotten.

"I'm okay, Nev. I promise."

He nodded slightly. She reached for the container, trailing her wet fingers over the cracked clay, mending them as best she could. Noticing how hard her fingers needed to work to fix the gaping wounds, she frowned. But time and a little elbow grease had eventually smoothed out the hurt piece. Ginny didn't know how long the silence stretched, but she somehow knew that Neville didn't mind. She lifted the piece, brandishing it to the quiet wizard. He smiled in approval.

She replied after a time, "First, you bit off Parvati's balls…then you get philosophical. What have you been taking? And…more importantly, can you spare some for me."

He didn't understand it either. Neville was overcome with emotions that he didn't quite know how to handle. It had been happening a lot to him lately…he went from one extreme to the next, classic bi-polar syndromes. He had heard that boys were late bloomers and decided to chalk that up to adolescence. With a genial shrug and earnest naivety he offered:

"Reckon it's gotta be hormones."

- - -

It was a sound of sharp inhalation, one that force fed air into her body. Lavender's lips peeled apart as her eyes sharked about the dim comforts of the medical wing. Her hands though lethargic, groped at her sheets desperately. She realized that she wasn't alone; that instilled such a terrifying stab in her that her still fragile body jolted upright. Her bed shook violently from her movements.

The springs in the mattress creaked maliciously summoning the nurse to her. Lavender realized the presence she was afraid of was just the nurse – nothing to be daunted by. Except, she didn't recognize it to be Madame Pomfrey. Lavender was tired and dehydrated though, so her lack of recognition would have to be forgiven. With a raspy voice, she heard herself beg for drink. The attendant complied by filling a glass with simple water and handing it over.

As if she had been deliberately being starved, the teenager gulped the water in massive mouthfuls down her parched throat. Water spilled from the sides of her lips before she shoved the glass back to the attendant. _More_, she had begged again. Her vision was blurred thanks to the over-abundance of sleep that her body began to crave, but it also didn't help that only moonlight was the only source that bathed the ward – even then, it wasn't enough; so when she began to look upon her caregiver all she could make out was a detached look upon a nondescript countenance.

Lavender offered a weak apology. The attendant didn't reply. But only kept staring.

Unease settled into the Gryffindor girl's body, she sensed she was trapped. Immediately that feeling went away as the burn of anger that had erupted in her replaced it. She found her fingers rubbing at her eyes. They remained blurred. This wasn't happenstance – a spell had been cast on her an ingenious one that affected her vision.

"You promised things would be fixed…I did as you bloody asked me to! It took time to tear _them_ apart, but I did! I sacrificed for you…I…I gave you what you all wanted, haven't I? Their friendship's…rendered…"

She found her sobs were soundless while her body shook insolently, Lavender's babble continued despite herself.

"You promised the whole school wouldn't know what I was…. that she would be _mine. _You promised…but you gave her to that rat bastard Weasley! She was supposed to be…"

A clammy hand rested upon her still-sheet-covered knee. Even through the haze of her gaze Lavender saw the white of its teeth. The attendant had the gall to smile. After all she had done, it smiled. It wasn't reassuring, nor was it one of gratitude. It just existed.

Unexpectedly…

Her body slumped forward and her lips parted expelling her breath. One by one, the various objects of the room began to disappear from her view – her eyes were closing. Cold hands pressed against Lavender's shoulders, in effect forcing her back to the beddings. She hadn't been too far-gone to grasp that the following flow of words fell from the attendant's non-corporeal lips. It was a voice mixed with Americana crisp and English highbrow...yet familiar.

"You're replaced and no longer needed," the quasi-European murmured in addition – and very ominously said, "Sleep well, Miss Brown..."

Though her body no longer responded to her will, a smile would have formed over her lips.

Lavender Brown had been freed.

- - -

When Dumbledore had taken the mantle of Headmaster for Hogwarts, he had a hand with the inception of his core staff. Deliberately choosing Wizards and Witches with skills honed in specific areas. With a knack for healing, Madam Poppy Pomfrey was such a woman who quickly became the heart and soul of the Medical Ward for the school. But lately the question of her abilities had arisen.

She glanced at her hands and noted their aged refinement. Madame Pomfrey shook her head in dismay witnessing a sudden, yet slight tremor arrest them. The nurse quietly married her hands together, rubbing them over the other to generate some heat and to harbor a flicker of hope that that motion would cease their shaking. When that failed, she pulled the shawl about her shoulders tighter before rising to her feet.

At that very moment the clock-tower's bell system tolled. Deep and somber, the sound alerted Madame Pomfrey to her current duty. She moved through her office door which lay just adjacent from the main ward and caught a glimpse of a lantern lit within.

'_Ah, that's right Poppy – you've taken on Volunteers…'_

So reminded her mind. It was the right decision. The nurse had much too much to deal with without having to add on ill besotted teenagers (heartbroken or otherwise). Madame Pomfrey lobbed her gaze towards the private room that held another patient. Day in and out, she tended to that one patient. Day in and out, she was dealt with failures. That magic was beyond her capabilities. Her hope diminished of ever healing her long-time friend with every onward movement of time. But Minerva McGonagall had withstood far worse.

Weary from the gravity of her situation, Madame Pomfrey shuttled her way to the main ward, she needed to work in solitude with no interference.

With a curt knock laid upon the ward's main entryway, she pushed her way in. There, she stalked in with her head held aloft, brandishing the worn lines of her matronly features; There would be no way a woman as stalwart as Poppy Pomfrey would betray any weaknesses. It just wasn't in her. The woman's eyes swept the length of the room and spotted the student volunteer standing aside Lavender Brown's cot.

Prim and proper as she was known for, Madame Pomfrey addressed the attendant, "It is getting on in the evening, child. You should be off for your House."

"Of course Madame Pomfrey."

She stood at the foot of the bed as the student rounded it. The nursemaid looked upon Lavender surprised at the serenity of her countenance. She had come into the ward draped in a fit of hysteria, with incoherency spewing from her lips with bouts of woebegone confessions of unrequited love. _Teenagers._

"Has she been asleep long?"

The attendant paused and spirited about to reply. "No," a breath was given in thought, "She had finally succumbed a little while before you entered, Madame."

"Blessed be." Madame Pomfrey glanced over her shawl-covered shoulder, "You've been a God-send."

Gabrielle smiled and toyed with the sound of that compliment. "I know."

- - -

The needle scratched at the surface of the record, bringing forth nothing but white noise. Fleur remained stationary for just a minute, half hidden by the shadows of the room. Realizing that the song had ended, she moved from the grasp of the blanket of shadows and silenced the scratching irritation of the phonograph. Her eyes drifted towards her companion.

Hermione could barely down the contents of her chalice after the toast was made. In spite the good natured inflection and sincere words Fleur offered, the younger female felt the conversation took a turn into unsteady territory; she didn't know just _where_ that territory lead, but Hermione knew she had been the one that brought them to that unnamed point.

The Muggle needed to dig out of the impending gravesite.

"She doesn't approve of me, does she?"

_Not that that subject is any better, 'Mione m'girl – God you are the epitome of brilliance in her shadow aren't you?_

But, there was a faint change in the silver colored depths of Fleur's eyes; Hermione tilted her head and continued – at least there was a semblance of something other than that cool stare and the quiet that replaced their earlier banter. It was hilarious really. There was a time that she would have given anything to have the Veela shut her maw. This evening…this moment – though she didn't acknowledge its presence in her mind, she was aching. She needed Fleur to feed her with more than that aloof gaze.

She needed to hear that contralto purr.

Hermione fed her lungs with a deep gulp of air. Her nerves were continually being shot with foreign emotions, physical wants – all she logically fought valiantly against.

Each day, she felt she was losing. It frightened her.

"Your sister," managed the teen.

"Ah…," the Veela's lips feinted a smirk, "that is Gabrielle for you," remarked Fleur quietly, as if it answered everything. But she caught Hermione's questioning look. She smiled consolatory. The platinum haired woman tucked a stray lock of her mane behind her ear and absently added, "She 'as always been fond of 'er possessions."

The Muggle furrowed her brows. It was an odd thing to hear flowing from the lips of the Veela. A very proud Veela. _Possessions?_ Is that what Fleur thought of herself? The Veela hadn't realized exactly what she just pronounced. So when Hermione heard no other explanations offered, she carefully needled Fleur.

"I don't think I understand."

"She iz a DeLacour. A true…_brat._"

Hermione was taken aback by the matter-of-fact announcement. Fleur chuckled. "It is a DeLacour trait – we demand, we _get. _For 'er, if you possess what she wants, she will most certainly 'ate you." Confused by the latter statement, the teenager tucked that bit of information into the deep recesses of her mind. _Have what she wants?_

Fleur continued, "Az you recall," the Veela gave a downward turn of her head, in effect motioning to herself, "I waz a little…"

"Whiny?"

"I would 'ave preffered – catty."

Hermione chuckled and wrinkled her nose, "Not when you started off with that-", she began to pantomime - fluttering her eyelids, and then coupled that with a toss of her partially bushy mane. Encouraged by Fleur's arched brow, Hermione finished with a flippant, "I em prettier zan all off 'oo combined! – Cawing. I mean.._really_, did we need to be reminded every hour on the hour? We _all_ knew you were…" then quietly confessed, "Not that you aren't _now_…"

Hermione grinned unsure if her whispered prose was carried towards the elder woman. Or even if she was offended by it. Fleur had laughed softly. "What better way than that to make an impression no? After all," she regarded the girl, "You and Ginny, despised me."

"Yes, well…That…that was before."

"And now…?"

Hermione pondered and mused out, "_Tolerate_ is a word in your vocabulary, isn't it?"

She smiled.

"As for Ginny," the Muggle turned about abruptly as failed to hide her scoff. "She's come into her own though, hasn't she…Ever popular, ever lovely…surprisingly _backstabbing…_" Hermione rubbed her forearm, "Can we skip that particular topic?"

"Az you wish."

The teenager looked over her shoulder to Fleur, "Seriously – you're not going to push the subject?"

Fleur shrugged amicably, "Why? I think I fascinate you enough that you can't resist telling me everything in due time. Just as you could not _resist_ befriending me." She suppressed a smirk at the sight of Hermione's look of incredulity to her egotistical remark.

"Scratch that…You're so bullocking full of yourself."

"And you're still British – I think it is the same…maybe worse?"

Hermione gawked before tossing a small throw pillow from a luxurious ecru divan she just reached, towards Fleur – who plucked it from the air with ease.

She shook her head, laughing quietly. It was unorthodox how the woman could relatively erase her damper mood. In unceremonious fashion, the teen collapsed onto the seat. She eyed Fleur's shadow, which was being manipulated to dance via the firelight. Her thoughts traveled back to that want, her need to find out more about the woman in her presence – It was the only way to get closer…

_Fleur was right…you couldn't resist. Damn her. But damn me more…_

"Your English has improved, I haven't told you that, have I?" She tried another path.

"You just did. Merci for the compliment."

"…BUT, it's not as impeccable as Gabrielle's," haughtily intoned Hermione before she gave the Veela more airs than needed. She casually allowed her head to lean against her propped arm, "In fact, she doesn't even have an accent. Why is that?"

Fleur toyed with the tasseled edges of the pillow that she caught, "After the death of my grandmother – my parents divorced. Papá…," her voice softened, "Papá 'ad custody of Gabrielle and left for the United States."

The French woman's voice trailed, somewhere a memory was being brought forth. As if Hermione had read her mind, Fleur received a consolatory quiet. She had been grateful the younger woman withheld a comment. Even one as simple as an '_I'm sorry'_, would have driven her ballistic.

"You don't sound so enthused about that," she stated instead. Hermione wasn't one to drop a subject if it garnered her interest.

Fleur found her fingers manipulating the tassels, dividing a few into three pairs – she was amused at Hermione's curiosity of her life, but wasn't ready to divulge. Deftly her digits began to weave each into a small braid. Her mind recalled images of her one time loving parents flying accusations into the other's face. One night, it had been particularly horrific. Their shouting roused her from bed and Gabrielle's small frame had been huddled at her side seeking her older sister's protection. The child refused to leave Fleur.

Their room's door had been ajar as it always was every night for the benefit of their mother who paid them consistent visits. The words cut the stillness of the night; words that were riddled with insipid retort from drunken lips – as abruptly as it started, it was stopped by her father's pronouncement and her mother's bruised cheek:

"_-My- daughter will not be a reflection of you and that prostitute of a girl that you call your child."_

Fleur was sixteen. It was a hell of a way to find out that not only were you a bastard child, but that you were reviled by the only father you ever knew. Drawing her eyes back to meet Hermione's studying gaze, she answered, hoping that her tone impressed a degree of humor.

"She 'ad been Americanized. Would _you_ be 'appy?" The Veela stretched her arms over her head and gave a lazy drawl then dropped them, finishing with a genial shrug, "Republican this, Desperate 'Ousewives that…"

The younger female knew she happened on a delicate subject and quietly decided to retreat – for now. Hermione gave a soft, respecting chuckle for the apparent joke made.

"Though, I think you did not come 'ere to chat about the niceties of my life."

There it was, the subtle hint of insinuation that clung with ease to Fleur's delivery. The muggle should have known better by now not to push. She had been towing the line ever since she began to visit the enigmatic woman. Lowering her head onto the arm rest of Fleur's sofa, Hermione quietly confessed, "Is it so terrible to want to be this close…to know you better…"

But the platinum haired beauty hadn't heard her and continued oblivious to the youth's yearning gaze. She lopped the pillow aside, "Well?"

She remained seated as the elder woman took command of the room. The French Witch had become the centrifugal point of the area, and not once did Fleur look at her. Unbidden and out of nowhere, she felt a spike of anger at the Veela's cool detachment.

_Goddamn you, don't you pull from me now._

No longer able to tame the frustration level her emotions and what her body was going through, the teen stood from the divan abruptly. Still holding her glass flute, Hermione felt her fingers tensed about the rim, any more pressure and perhaps the glass would have broken.

"I assume we 'ave come to the point of tonight's visit," edged the Frenchwoman in mild annoyance.

"Your etiquette is impeccable…but your social manner is in dire need of work," snapped Hermione. "It's not a wonder you haven't friends."

Fleur kept her silent vigil – Because it was true, yet coming from Hermione's lips, the comment bruised her. Friendship was a difficult ship for the Veela to steer. She learned that people, no matter the race, always leech from you. And with all these visits from Hermione - it always began with playful jests, easing to small talks, a dig into her life and ended with the younger woman asking for help in the art of seducing the imbecilic red haired boy back to her young arms – How could she _not_ feel…used?

Fleur was whore in the purest form_. To be pillaged for the best parts._

But…

Combating the tempest in her and the dull gutting sensation at the base of her neck, the Veela let out a slow breath accompanied with a quiet prose, "It 'as been a long day...for the both of us. Perhaps", Fleur hesitated "...you should leave."

Stunned. There was regret for her snipe. She had no right to. To have accused Fleur. Then hearing the request to leave – Hermione's anxiety rose… She had been the only person that had reached out and steadied the teenager. Hermione needed to say sorry, it should have been uncomplicated. After all…

_Be truthful 'Mione…_

…She intruded on Fleur's life. It was an obsessive compulsion that couldn't be stopped.

_Be truthful 'Mione…_

…And she didn't care. Had she gone insane?

Lowering her head because of guilt Hermione's mind reeled in confused whirlwind, the teenager murmured repetitively peppered with unsure pause, "It's late and...and you're right, I _should_ get back…I should head back…" When what felt like an eternity passed and she had not gotten an answer, Hermione lifted her gaze.

Fleur was only a few feet from her. The moonlight had framed the woman in a sort of ethereal radiance, making her eyes all the more evocative. Slowly, Fleur pressed the small of her back to the lip of the window's ledge, her hands coasted to her sides and her ankles crossed. One needn't be a mind-reader to see that the youth had something more to say, something behind the hooded cocoa gaze screamed, yet was not heard. Patiently, Fleur waited.

_Be truthful 'Mione…_

"But", it was a breathless pronouncement even as her feet carried her closer towards the still stationary, still silent enchantress. Hermione's fingers trawled and unconsciously dabbled at her house tie, while her other hand busied with the glass' rim.

"…I don't want to." The muggle's heart rate doubled in its intensity, causing a deafening throb in her ears. She swore her words shook with each vowel that sputtered from her lips. Hermione's body began winning the unnamed war with her logic – the latter cave in…Her need to define the unknown rushed into her mercilessly. Desperately she groped for words, "Please…I just _need_…" She searched her mind rapidly for any excuse to offer.

Any excuse for her to stay.

It was faint but Fleur heard it and read it in the youth's eyes. The underlying words that were just a breath beneath the words Hermione just spoke; it came down to the intermittent looks she received with every visit, every timid smile and hesitation. The Veela wouldn't _be_ a Veela if she hadn't pinioned the signs.

Hermione was curious, confused and above all _afraid…_afraid of what was happening to her Her inner mind had long been silenced from its cries of Ron's name; the one she _loved _and the one she so desperately wanted back...she was supposed to be with him. From this point on, something more poignant needed to be answered.

_What did **you** do to me?_

"Why do you think Jazz music appeals to me?"

The Muggle was obviously taken aback by the off topic muse. Fleur continued nonplussed, turning her gaze out into the never-ending night. Her voice was haunting, as if it were pulled from a dream so much so, Hermione had to inch closer just to hear. She had become rapt.

"Jazz speaks truth, Jazz makes you feel, Jazz makes you forget..." A drawn pause settled. Then quietly, Fleur reminded her, "It iz late 'Ermione."

She was handed the ball. A ball, which continued to bounce with no direction until, Hermione gave a quiet laugh of understanding. She swallowed nervously to wet her now-parched throat. "Yes…it is. We know this." Fleur's attention was drawn back to her. Instinctively, the Muggle gave a nod of her head and deeply inhaled.

"Tell me more." Hermione had committed – there was no other way than forward, to go.

They stood before one another both knowing there was no way to fight the merging of Crystalline Blue and Hazelnut. Fleur lifted the glass from Hermione's hand and offered a faint smile. Her lips parted taking in the remainder of the Muggle's unfinished drink. Hermione's gaze lowered and was transfixed with the gentle rise and fall of Fleur's chest.

Setting aside the empty glass, Fleur murmured, "Turn."

Hermione looked to her questioningly.

In swift motion, Fleur had invaded the muggle's personal space, a hand was placed upon the younger woman's hip, and the other lifted the girl's curtain of hair, irresistibly, the teen was drawn into the elder woman's arms. Fleur lowered her head allowing her lips the privilege of almost tasting Hermione's supple flesh – a sinful torment - and slowly eased the teen about.

"Turn," came another…softer command from Fleur. The muggle complied.

Hermione's back was gently pressed against Fleur's body; the muggle fought to quiet a moan that ached to be ripped from her throat. She felt Fleur's heart beat joining with her own erratic one – it tamed it; she felt the Veela's breasts push against her back before the pressure of the woman's firm leg slipped between her own. But nothing…_nothing_ was more intoxicating was when she felt the heat between her thighs erupt in a moist assault, all at the breathless utterance of Fleur's following words, flowing over the nape of her neck:

"…Melt into me."

Other words tumbled from the Veela's lips; it was an indiscernible prose smoldering with her French lilt. This was a combination that made Hermione quake, milking her lust. Suddenly, the gentle swaying bridge of a song was brought to life and began to dress the interior of the room. Fleur soothingly pressed her forehead against her companion's temple as her hands freely wandered the canvass of Hermione's sides. Accidental or on purpose, the younger woman could not determine, but what she felt was the feather-like caress of the elder woman's finger tips hooking beneath the edge of her untucked blouse; they grazed against her hidden flesh which finally coaxed a cry from the Muggle's already parted lips. Thankfully the music swallowed the sound.

The Veela within Fleur freely took the reigns; seduction was a game and a forte for her kind that no one human could fend off. And she knew, by the way that Hermione's abdomen quivered, the girl's body was all but hers to command. Slowly, she led the youth into motion, dipping her hip and wedging her thigh further between Hermione's legs, parting them more. There, minute as it was, the Muggle-born's body arrested. Immediately Fleur duskily murmured:

"…I 'ave you."

_In more ways than one..._

In answer, Hermione nodded letting her head be supported by the nook of Fleur's shoulder... The friction imparted upon her lower region was too much to bear but she was unwilling to stop this dance. Easily...absently, her hips rocked slowly over the muscle nestled between her thighs sending closer to the edge of what kept her sane. Hermione's hands found themselves grasping in silent plea over Fleur's own before her fingers timidly laced between the elder woman's. A light sheen of sweat began to form on her forehead as her young body visited sensations that she never knew existed, all brought on with a woman's touch.

As she dipped and rolled her hips, the younger woman's body melded with her own, as she swayed Hermione's body quivered. At this point Fleur knew she owned her companion physically. It hadn't helped that she was also on the fringe of her arousal. Hermione didn't realize how seductive she could be. Inhaling, the Frenchwoman was ingrained with the girl's scent, the tenderness of her flesh, down to the innocent way she tried to stymie her body's wanton reactions.

"Jazz seduces you…without you realizing."

Hermione's back arched – Fleur's hand furthered down the teen's thigh, teasing the sensitized flesh as her fingers lifted the edge of her skirt, to only stop mid-way in its excursion. The Veela had to tame herself…this _wasn't_ for her. _She_ wasn't for her. Still, the jealousy that's inherant of her Veela side, reared its venom.

"You want _'im_, oui?" she hissed.

Hermione whimpered. Words would not forumlate. Fleur understood that as a positive reply. It was then that the Muggle felt the elder woman's lips and then her breath as she spoke, cascade along the outer rim of her ear.

"_Make_ 'im crave you with 'ow you dance," slowly, painfully for both parties, Fleur began to under the lower buttons of Hermione's blouse,

"…You say with your body, 'ow it moves: _Ron, feel me.. _'Ow I ache for you…and you alone"

The fingers that had deftly liberated Hermione's blouse, splayed over the girl's taut stomach, moving in idle patterns.

"Ron…watch me, want me, because _I_…", purred Fleur, giving pause before uttering her final words.

Hermione wanted Fleur to shut her mouth, she hated hearing _his_ name come from her lips. How it rolled off her bloody French tongue, sounding as if it were merely nothing more than rubbish. How she kept saying it to reiterate a point. How that name did was not fit to be uttered from her lips…

She willed her body about with difficulty, facing the woman who assaulted every sense and sensibility she had. Hermione felt her face flushed and breathing in such close proximity was laborious at best. Her head spun, she wanted to tell Fleur that that name wasn't the one she should be saying. That…

_It should be mine… MY name!_

Hermione's insides clenched at the ferocity of those unsaid words. Fleur's eyes burrowed deep as she looked desperately at the Veela.

"…_I_…want to be the one who makes love to you."

The teenager froze. And Fleur stood there, with unreadable features, save for her slightly parted lips, and what Hermione swore was a gentle trace of color crawling over the woman's cheeks.

But the phonograph skidded to a halt, making the music stop abruptly amidst the sudden flare of lights exploding from each candleabra that graced the room. The teeanger scanned the room in surprise. And as the cool of the night air coursed about her body, Hermione realized that Fleur had left her side. Quickly even as her body…her senses were under the lust-haze, her eyes sought the enchantress out, she now stood just off to her left; her demeanor had shifted. Fleur's profile was as breathtaking as ever, but peppered with disdain. Her cerulean eyes affixed towards the shadowed lair of the foyer…

From its pit, a shock of red hair was first brandished, wild and untamed. Hermione nearly collapsed – _It was Ron._ His eyes were alight and clearly inebriated and brows were furrowed. An animalistic growl erupted from deep within his chest.

"I'll fuggin' kill ye."

- - -

_a/n – apologies, of the sincerest form. I've just returned from another trip and finally managed to update this – it's plodding along, but I'll hurry to finish this…forgive my mistakes._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Seven.**_

"_She's cold and she's cruel…_

_But she knows what she's doing…_

…_She's just the girl I'm looking for."_

_Click 5_

Bodies slammed mercilessly into one another leaving the lesser able covered in muck. The blokes about one man continued onward, threatening to trample him as he lay there. He coughed on his own blood, but managed to rally his remaining senses. Astonishingly, the man rose to his feet to a rousing ovation. It wasn't for him though. His team had scored a goal in a game called Soccer.

The television flickered with white noise among the thunderous yowls and smashing of beer cans to Cro-Magnon foreheads. Despite that Bill found himself absorbed in this violent Muggle born sport. It was after work and a few of his half-muggle buddies managed to needle him into a little obnoxious man partying. He had to hand it to them it was definitely a fantastic way to kill time until his rendezvous. Tanking another mug of that rancid brew from the pub's tap, Bill fished out his pocket watch and smirked.

The time had come.

It was a Thursday night. The only damned night he looked forward to every month in fact. It was routine for him, get snockered a slight and head over to _her_ place. A month is too long to wait to satisfy those inhumane needs. Between work and working for the Order, Bill Weasley hadn't managed to tame his desires, not even a good wank managed to feed them. _She_ owed him this night. It was a set agreement.

When he arrived at her doorstep and then twisted the doorknob. A wave of excitement coursed through him as he felt the tumblers give way. He didn't have to use a key, it seems…_she _had been expecting him as well. Why else would the door be unlocked this time? Bill felt his groin area twitch in anticipation.

Bill stole another swig of the bottle of whiskey he 'borrowed' from the pub. Maneuvering through the haze of his inebriation and dimly lit hallway, he heard familiar strains of a tune. He groaned outwardly detesting her taste in music. It was old and utterly outdated. There was no way Bill would ever live according to his age.

The tall wizard rounded a corner leading to the main living area. His eyes didn't need to fight to focus on the sight before him.

Two women…

Two bodies moving in unison…

The telltale deep breaths, incomprehensible moans…both were on the edge of bliss. It obviously wasn't a late night consoling session for Gryffindor's headmistress.

This was a dream for most of the male populace. Any blue-balled lout that says otherwise must have been queer. But THIS…this was different, he recognized the girl even before wiping the disbelieving crusts from his eyes. Tonight the display was revolting. Angry, he tromped into the room gripping the bottle's neck tighter with each step.

"I'll fuggin' KILL ye!"

A breathless, almost mousy plea escaped Hermione's throat, barely making it past her lips, "R…ron…"

"Bill…What an uninvited surprize." Fleur's reply was saturated with sarcasm, "You stink of alco'ol."

Hermione turned her confused gaze towards the Frenchwoman. "…Bill?" It was a soft askance that wasn't meant to be heard. Her body was suddenly hit with a heavy wallop to her gut – A feeling she realized, was both shame and guilt that made her think Ron had caught her. She screwed her eyes tight before opening them once more. The teenager sought Bill out; he now stood towering over Fleur's rooted form.

"You shu'up y'damned slag!" A newborn ache resonated within the eldest Weasley. He wanted to pound this woman's body into submission. Amazingly as his face contorted with absolute rage, Bill held the urge at bay.

"What the bloody 'ell d'you think you're doin?" His steely eyed gaze pinned Hermione before spattering out in a more hushed, yet infuriated tone to Fleur, "…Boffin' th'kiddies now?"

_Her temple thumped mercilessly… _

Fleur lifted her gaze and leveled it unto Bill's fiery ones. The Veela caught a tiny flinch of his facial expression. Something made Bill Weasley quake. She scoffed inwardly at that.

_You've only seen this once, haven't you Bill? Her Veela blood began to simmer._

"Look to yourself before you fucking lecture me," hissed Fleur. A tempest raged within her, rage at being intruded upon and frustration at not attaining that release her Veela side craved so violently.

"Nothing," It was barely a whisper, but was audible enough for all to hear.

Swirled into the mix of her emotions, Fleur was rocked with a jolt. It had slipped her mind that Hermione was still in the same room. The shadows in the within the expanse, moved by the will of the moonlit night. The French witch followed them, remaining under their cloak. She couldn't…She wouldn't let Hermione _see_ her. Her ghostly eyes pinioned intently on the Muggle. The recent memory of the youth's body pressed so gently against her, still lingered in her soul. It only reinforced the ferocious knowledge of wanting to find that release with her young companion. Remaining silent, Fleur made sure to keep her features hidden as she listened.

"What?" Bill boomed out.

"It was _nothing," _reiterated Hermione; her intonation wavered just slightly.

Fleur scrutinized the girl. Nausea crept into her; she tasted it as it nestled in the back of her throat. Being whored, after all, leaves a sickening flavor in one's mouth.

The teen's mind replayed what happened not more than a few minutes ago. She would never deny that it _felt_ exquisite… She desperately wanted to lose herself, but the consequences of that would be too great. Hermione Granger was the epitome of a good girl. And a good girl should never feel guilt. Bill's coming here solidified that; what she nearly indulged in…was wrong.

"You can't expect me t'believe tha'."

"I expect that you would _trust_ me, Bill."

Hermione's posturing was rigid and her words resolute. Her gaze never wavered from Bill's. _This was the right decision._

"Whatever it is you _thought_ was going on – isn't the case." The teen approached Bill slowly. She managed to edge out with much concentration, "You know me. So you know that _nothing_ happened."

"I know you," said Bill heavily, "An' I know _'er_."

The Muggle refused to follow his line of sight as he motioned towards a dark patch. She felt Fleur's presence and knew the Frenchwoman watched from nearby.

"Enough with the interrogationz."

Involuntarily, Hermione inhaled hearing the interjection.

"The girl came 'ere for 'er nightly lessonz," her accent thickened. It was proof that inwardly, the Veela began to win the right to be dominant. Fleur was too tired to fight the assault off any longer. The reason for fighting was non-existent; she should have learned by now...

But hope clung with those quiet exchanges and lingering touches…how could Fleur not have been swallowed into the game?

"Muggles are so left-footed oui? She needed 'elp - Desperately." The game changed and the Veela will adapt accordingly.

In graceful fashion the Veela skirted within the darker portions of the room, remaining out of view. Only the deep contralto timbre of her voice carried throughout the room, condescending in every uttered word, "Else the girl fall flat on that Muggle face of 'ers at the upcoming Yule Dance." The woman paused, "Public 'umiliation iz tantamount to _suicide _at that age" She allowed her cool gaze to wander over the youth's body, "Such iz the life of sheep."

Her silver eyes flicked upwards to Hermione's features. Unwittingly the youth met Fleur's gaze. But the look the teen received wasn't the same that she had become accustomed to.

"…You 'ave _taken_ what you needed from me," The Veela announced crisply, "I doubt you need anything more…"

The teenager's throat constricted upon itself. Hermione searched the darkness to _find_ Fleur but was met with a wall of stony silence and that heartless gaze. "I'll…return tomorrow for-"

"I 'ave other _appointments. _I suspect I shall be busy."

Hermione stiffened as she hoarsely echoed, "Appointments."

The Veela moved and was barely out of the shadows. That both Bill and Hermione could almost make out her features. "Oui. Now if you please excuse me…" the woman canted her head towards the red-topped wizard allowing her voice to dip a notch lower and added, "…I 'ave an engagement to attend to."

Bill failed to suppress his smirk. He had been told what was going on and that was all he knew. Giddy as a hormone enraged teen, he sputtered his two-cents, "I'll ge' th'drinks – White wine, right?"

The French Witch's nod was near imperceptible, but it was enough to send Bill scurrying.

"I thought you weren't _with _him," rasped Hermione when the wizard was finally out of ear shot, "You told me…"

"-Yes," sniped the elder woman, "I 'ave told _you_ many thingz so let's add one more….You know where ze exit iz." The Veela turned about, letting her flowing mane of silver shimmer against her back. "…_leave."_

Hermione's form went stark still to her hands tingling with numbness.

"You… You cast iron _bitch!_" Hermione's eruption was enough to have the Veela pause in her trek.

Her eyes burned as the intensity of her headache doubled. The monster within clawed at Fleur from the inside. It surprised the Veela that her voice remained steady as she meant it to be.

"Tell me some_thing_ I don' already know."

"Try this: Did you know how much these visits with you meant to me?" Hermione stared at Fleur and found no flicker of acknowledgement, "But then, how could you? I was nothing more than _just_ a fucking _appointment_ to you."

The clock tower tolled deeply. It just hit midnight, sounding the end of their dance. Not a moment to spare, she heard the teenager's hurried footfall and the angry thud of the door.

"…You never let me know."

Fleur immediately shut her eyes as she sought support for her worn form. Upon the windowsill she pressed herself against, a drop of ruby red contrasted against its Spartan white paint. She used the back of her hand to wipe at her nose and felt the stick of her own fluid. Cursing under her breath, she righted herself. Her eyes opened miraculously.

Just in time for Fleur to have seen Hermione fade from her view.

---

A lonely figure pulled itself from a nearby hedge, she wanted to share what an eventful day it was, capitalized by a most interesting night. Imagine her surprise to find a full house visiting the Counselor. The figure watched the Muggle witch run from the Counselor's temporary home.

Pulling the cowl of her cloak from her platinum head, the younger DeLacour chuckled. Her eyes drifted back to the wing that housed her sister. And for a fleeting moment, while watching Fleur struggle against the paned window – she felt a twinge of concern.

But it was just a twinge.

---

Time soldiered forth elongating the days into weeks. Rumors persisted and relationships were either on their way to being mended or still suffered from the strain of circumstances. Fall edged closer to winter; the scent of it was clinging lightly on the heels of November. Soon, the grounds would be covered in a blanket of snow as the earth slept and readied itself for the second term.

But for the now…The courtyard was littered with students of the respective houses this clear afternoon. Recess from classes had been called, a much needed break for the addled minds of Hogwarts. One such found her way on a luxurious patch of knoll, coursing along the tree line near the lake's edge.

A brisk wind tickled her from behind causing the red headed witch to tuck into her Gryffindor scarf. As she arrived to the designated 'loafer's' area, Ginny Weasley eyed the mod-squad group already gathered. Neville slept on his belly oblivious to his surroundings. Luna was propped against the trunk of a tree, without her robes and scarf weathering the cold as if it were nothing. Harry, whom she had reached a quiet truce with, paced the lake's edge subjecting himself to apparent brooding – at least that what it appeared as. But a squeal of high pitched 'Oh my god there he is!' broke the serenity of the moment. She caught Harry smirk. _He just can't let go of his celebrity._

Ginny eased her way to the group and lobbed a silver canister on to the knoll; it landed dangerously close to Neville's head, causing the wizard to start. "Ah, apologies Nev." He grunted in reply and rolled over.

"Is it warm?" queried Luna.

The Quidditch chaser nodded, "As per request – A steaming brew of Butterbeer."

The blonde Ravenclaw grinned, "Brilliant – It's rather nippy out."

Neville, upon hearing that, popped his head up looking incredulously at Luna, then to Ginny. The red head though, had her gaze fixated elsewhere. Bringing himself upright he finally said, "'At's why we've been issued winter robes."

Luna erstwhile, snatched the canister and began to pour healthy amounts into separate cups for each person, "Oh. Yes. Yes that would make sense wouldn't it?" She passed one cup to Neville (who hadn't ceased his staring but said his thanks none the less), then meandered to Ginny.

Gratefully the witch bobbed her head in acknowledgement to the offered drink, before receiving a proud smile from Luna and a gentle caress upon her head. She watched her odd friend with mild amusement.

"So then…?" Neville managed out.

"Mm?" Charmingly replied Luna, "You should drink up Longbottom – Butterbeer never tastes as good as when it's warm."

Discombobulated Neville shook his head and tried again before Harry, tiring from basking in his glory gave a pat to his mate's shoulder, "Don't. You'll go mad if you pursue further. So just smile and nod."

He sighed and acquiesced, downing the contents in just a few swallows.

Harry nursed his drink before moving himself closer to his one-time ladylove. Luna had already situated herself alongside her best mate – Harry had learned to accept the blonde as Ginny's personal assistant/attack dog. "Have you heard?"

"There's a lot of 'have-you-heards' going about Harry, that one can't possibly keep those fucking rumors straight." Ginny lifted her eyes from behind the rim of her cup before resting her head against Luna's own. "Would this one be the Ron and Hermione one? Or Ron and Parvati, or…our headmistress and Hermione, or was that a lack there of…or..."

"It's the Lavender Brown one. Which I suppose adversely affects the Ron/Parvati relation."

She set down her cup and though her attention was on Harry, her ever wandering gaze became riveted elsewhere. Undeterred, the scarred teenager explained, "Lavender was moved to St Mungos Mungo's. 'Parently, she slipped into a deep coma and for some reason Parvati'd gone a bit wonky."

"Apparently? Harry – It isn't surprising that she would have. Those two were inseparable before Ron. Losing your best friend under any circumstance is...it's…"

With her ever-hawkish gaze, Ginny scrutinized two forms just breaking the horizon. They were obviously engrossed in nothing more than one another. Their body language alone screamed 'flirtatiousness'. The girl had listed her head, as the boy leaned in close and whispered something that caused his companion to guffaw with laughter – fake as it was. Ron and Hermione were headed their way. But the latter must have realized where they were going because she slowed in her trek.

"…Heartbreaking."

Luna rolled her eyes towards the same direction that Ginny had hers transfixed on. Then the blonde removed her spectacles and rubbed them free of debris before replacing them upon the bridge of her nose. "Mm. I think you need a refill."

Ginny nodded absently, even though her cup was still filled to the rim. Luna took the cup and dazedly wandered from her friend's side. The redhead stood as both her brother and Hermione edged closer. The Weasley sibs acknowledged one another when appropriate but other than, agreed to stay out of the way of the other. Ron effectively avoided his sister and strayed to where Neville and Harry stood.

She nearly couldn't recognize the Muggle-born. Her hair had turned a lighter shade of brown and her face…well. Hermione gently feathered it with make-up, nothing gaudy or remotely overdone. Her lips were blushed and lashes thickened for effect. It certainly made her look more than JUST appealing.

"You and Ron?" Ginny tendered out.

Hermione's brow furrowed, it was a simple answer, but it felt like rusted tacks grating against her throat, "…Are a progress in works."

Guilt slipped in to Ginny's body, but she had to know. "So you've confron…spoken to Ron."

"Whatever _for, _Ginny?" The Chaser's jaw tensed before Hermione continued non-plussed, "There's nothing _to_ say."

The red head felt the onset of an incredulous stare being to take hold of her. Quickly she averted her eyes only to have them return to regard Hermione. But her mouth was like quicksilver and asked a question that begged to be voiced aloud.

"Is that why you and Fleur…rather, our headmistress have--"

"What," snapped Hermione.

"It's just that, you two were exceptionally close and all of the sudden…"

"She's a counselor. It was…IS part of her duty to listen," stated the muggle flatly. "I had a little rough patch – She offered an ear for at the time."

_That's all it was. Was it? _Ginny lowered her gaze and found that her hands were moving on their own accord. She accounted that to being a Chaser for her Quidditch team. Fidgeting was a natural reaction for her body. Clenching her fists to steady them, she lifted her head and moved closer to Hermione. "Listen…," Ginny began even as her hands thumped restlessly against her thigh. "What happened between us…What I did, no…what I _should_ have done…"

"…I imagine it's difficult to turn on a dime." Hermione lifted her head towards the heavens commenting quietly. Her tone had dramatically changed.

"Yes, yes it – what? I…" It threw Ginny for a loop. She paused in mid sentence not quite understanding what JUST transpired. The crisp winter wind whipped gently about the courtyard, sending spirals of leaves into the air.

"As fast as you all go in Quidditch. Navigating at high speeds, isn't it complicated?" The muggle genially began to walk, causing Ginny to follow her on her heels in a confused daze. Hermione tucked a tuft of her hair behind an ear.

"It's challenging, but nothing that I can't handle, I suppose."

The Muggle gave an accepting nod, "That's good…You'll have to give me more specifics on the game as a whole, next time. Quidditch is…such a fascinating sport, I've been meaning to know more about it." She motioned towards the rest of the group, "I believe we're being summoned."

Ginny watched Hermione head towards the knoll. It became clear to the redhead that her friend was running as far as she could from the pain that was dealt to her. Hermione needed no reminders but needed to forget.

"How far will you run…" came her unsolicited, whispered prose. It was swiftly carried away by a gentle wind.

Ginny sighed. The cycle continued, with a quiet hope that it would break soon.

--

She decided it was not only huge, but also…gargantuan. The Salmon colored bubble covered the majority of Tonks' face. It was quite the enjoyable feeling, actually. The bubble expanded even more, with every breath she pumped into it.

Nymphadora Tonks was unlike most twenty something year olds. Being an adult was nowhere in her immediate dreams or goals. Yet, she found herself in the unorthodox position of teaching up and coming witches and wizards.

She laughed curtly. Tonks'd already been somewhat of an influence in their lives. For some students began wandering in to her class with her trademark shocking hair color.

The bubble immediately deflated as Tonks sucked the life from it. Thank the wizarding gods for the creation of everlasting gum. She had been working on this particular wad for the last two hours. Though it was everlasting it also had an annoying feature…the inability to explode all over one's face. That fact did not deter Tonks from continually trying to reach that apex.

She chewed mercilessly on her gum savoring the surprisingly good taste of coconut and chocolate rolling over her tongue. Tonks grudgingly stole a glance towards the nearest timepiece and sighed heavily. Swinging her legs from the top of the desk she lowered her attention back to the dull task of grading the many papyrus spilled before her forever waiting…

Students certainly had it easier.

This reason wasn't why she became an Auror. Granted, it killed time and placed her where she needed to be. But the assignment had proven to be a rather repetitive tenure. At least…Till the night of Lavender Brown's seeming demise.

Tonks began to rhythmically tap the feather quill absently against her lower lip. Her mind re-played the events pertaining to the past incident. Only…there wasn't much to recall.

She wasn't there.

Madame Pomfrey, was.

And what Madame Pomfrey **could** remember made no sense. It wasn't fathomable.

Could it?

Now she found herself in a rather unenviable task…

Sounds of hurried and lazed footfall echoed through the ancient hallways. They were semi stifled with the clamoring of youthful voices expressing their frustration with their exam grades.

Tonks chuckled, thankful she no longer needs to go through that torture. Sucking her forefinger free of the excess taste of her gum, she keyed unto a particular conversation.

_(She couldn't help it; the crew of students was talking above normal decibels)_

"That's rubbish…Here here! She's plenty qualified for that position – else what business would the school have in hiring her?...Blimey – she's meks m'boxers go tight e'ery time we pay 'er a visit...IDJIT, then don't visit her!...You lot are perverted bastards and bitches, if'n y'asked me…Well we didn't, so put a sock innit. You worship 'er as much as we do, dun even lie."

Tonks felt a swelling of pride. She gave herself a little pat on her back for becoming quite the popular teacher…

"You know, zome people 'ave placez to go. And I…well…I am not az thin as I waz. So please my loves, se remettre en marche…Move on."

The Veela's tone was drenched in her patented French coating. Causing the awe struck bunch to coo in unison. It was in that instant did Tonks realize that it was foolish of her to think it was she that they tottered on and on about.

Soon a slew of: "Sorry, counselor…absolutely…can we take your things for ya?" vomited forth.

"'Ave you all forgotten what I 'ave told you from our very first meetings?...You 'ave?" Fleur clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "I should think zat my name iz a welcome relief to one's lips, oui? Try to use it more often."

That statement milked a collective swoon loose from their impressionable souls. Poor fools. Falling for classic Veela-isms. She knew better.

The metamorphmagus felt like gouging her eyes out with a plastic spork. Tonks grew more annoyed when her gaze lowered to one parchment she had begun to grade. Her quill dug into the ream, tearing the delicate paper.

"You've got to be fargin' kiddin' me…" groaned Tonks.

She'll just have to convince her student to turn in another essay, citing 'illegible handwriting.' _Yeah_. That would work. Tonks was a bona fide teacher after all; she'd not be questioned. Tired of waiting for _Princess Pretty Puff_…the bubble gum chewing Professor of Transfiguration shot from her seat and tromped her way towards the entryway of her class.

She'd show Fleur up. Right in front of all those worshipping teenyboppers. If they could just snap to from under the Veela's song, then it'd be worth it. Fleur DeLacour was a plain Jane. That's all there's been to it.

Squaring her shoulders Tonks pulled open the heavy wooden door even as her mind ran amok.

Tonks was every bit of a woman as that Veela. She had full lips, almond-shaped eyes, modestly sized chest, sparkling cider personality, and vibrant in her evermore youth.

Suddenly… as Fleur met Tonks' gaze briefly from over her shoulder, the latter woman realized that she didn't have that sensual curl of Fleur's lips. Nor the doe-shaped, crystal colored eyes that rendered you naked in her very presence.

Tonks didn't even have the right posture to carry a…_Good GODS, is that her…_

"…Rack o'lamb, Coun…Ms DeLac…Fleur…ma'am," one teen stuttered, effectively interrupting Tonks' thoughts. "A'least that's what Neville Longbottom suggested for this dance."

Fleur dipped her head in acknowledgement, "_Bon_," As expected the teens, because there were more than one willing to do her bidding, grew wide eyed with anticipation; the Veela gave a small smile then added, "'Ave m'sieur Longbottom see me."

Looks of vague disappointment and envy flickered from one youth to the next – they weren't lost upon Tonks as she watched – yet they grudgingly agreed, if only to win Fleur's favor.

_This whole scene was stupid!_

Once Fleur returned her full attention onto Tonks – with those eyes, the hidden smile, and that slight arch of the Veela's sculpted brow - the metamorphmagus felt her tongue disconnect from her brain.

In one breath Tonks blurted out, "Ilikemen."

Fleur gracefully eased her way into the young Professor's classroom and replied with a soft smarmy mewl, "So do I."

As the door failed to completely close in Fleur's wake, a very beet red Tonks burrowed her eyes on the Veela's back, "Funny that. Cause rumor 'as it, your harem's filled with the opposite."

"Petty jabs at my sexuality are unbecoming 'Professor'."

It was a warning that was shoved at Tonks to cease that line of prodding.

"Why did you send for me," Fleur strode through the room taking a detached interest in non-descript objects, carrying with her the absolute air of 'Business-as-usual'.

Folding her arms over her chest Tonks fell in step, "Just as an FYI…You DO know that we're all us in this together, aye? Tha' we've all got our duties…responsibilities t'perform, aye?"

Fleur slipped a glance at her companion, "Oui. Get to the point, Nymphadora."

From the murmur of her name, an unsought quickening of Tonks' flesh ran through her body. She despised her name for as long as her memory served. The effervescent witch wanted to ring Fleur's neck for making it sound half-decent.

"Miss Brown is close to dying." Tonks affirmed stolidly. "And you're to blame."

--

Feet. Feet were such useful appendages. Many misguided souls pay no heed to their feet; they carried you to where you need to be. They moved quickly when you wanted them to, cutting your trip down from its initial length. Most importantly, they kept one balanced and supported.

They demanded some sort of homage. Respect even.

Trundling along the corridors of Hogwarts, Luna Lovegood made sure there was plenty of admiration spewing from her, down to her faithful feet. She smiled lovingly to them and failed to notice that the women she trailed had halted in their walk. Absently, Luna felt a smart pain, erupting from the top of her head. She had collided into the Muggle witch's back.

The impact sent Luna bumbling backward and threatened to drop her on her rump.

She apologized quickly to the victim of her collision whirled about and offered the obligatory cursory words (which seemed sinfully delectable coming from once innocent lips). While her good friend – the red headed witch – was bitten by a passing giggle-bug.

Two weeks had passed since the unsteady truce between Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley settled into more familiar waters. They were friends again. But the trust still had dotted gaps in its pattern.

As both estranged friends moved to help Luna, the girl's eyes caught the tendril mist of both Griffyndors' 'aura'. Hermione had a gentle Plum Wine, while Ginny's dynamic Salmon seemed almost glaring by contrast. As they moved towards one another their auras touched intermittently but didn't join. Ginny's in particular was the more persistent in trying to merge. But the colors remained defined.

Luna frowned. She turned her gaze onto the red headed Weasley and offered up a consolatory look. What she got in return was Ginny's confused glance and a slew of: "Are you hurt?…Are you sure you're okay?"

She nodded slowly and heard Hermione's quip while the muggle dusted the hidden debris from the lower portion of Luna's robes,

"Miss Lovegood, I feel inclined to say… If you'd just refrain from going Space-tastic (a terminology coined by half the populace of Hogwarts in regards to Luna – though she could never understand why), I would think you'd have a better chance of maneuvering these halls." The muggle girl paused and quickly asked, "Why do you always insist on riding on our heels anyway…?"

As Luna swept her eyes about her neighboring proximity, they played over pallid features, translucent bodies – souls stuck in limbo from Hogwarts' now by-gone and bloodied history. They stared at her, calling voicelessly for help. Luna drifted her eyes back to Hermione who suddenly held a look of worry over her chocolate hues.

"Because…" Luna replied in standard fashion, "It's crowded." She failed to notice Ginny and Hermione's traded mystified looks. They may say otherwise; something to the silly effect of, 'Luna… there's no one here.' In effect that would happen – which it often did – Luna would simply reply with a gentle smile and a bob of her head.

The Ravenclaw girl learned that her extrasensory abilities made her _special_ at a very young age and that no normal human (by any spectrum) would understand what may be real and accepted in their world, was tame in comparison to her own reality.

So rather than just hide that part of her, Luna decided as per the teachings of her father, "…never deny whom you truly are, and who you are meant to be." She's never lied to herself unlike…some.

Luna assured the pair she was fine. They appeared satisfied with that and continued on their walk, with her tailing behind. Tipping her head casually to one side, her glasses went slightly askew. It sent her eyes out of focus, but as soon she refocused she saw the muggle gripping a reader and seemed flushed. A point made more obvious with the way her speech pattern quickened then alternately decelerated.

The Ravenclaw had a penchant for words and devoured them by reading anything and everything she could get her delicate hands on. The two girls were getting heated in their discussion; Luna paid no mind. She was too concentrated on the words running along the header of the opened magazine.

"Let me rub you down: A woman's journey to Tribadism…" Luna announced before having glanced from the reading, towards the pair. But as she begun to utter, "Are you studying for something Hermio-", she felt a stab of pain brought on by the clamping of Ginny's hand over her opened mouth.

With a surprised, yet muffled groan, Luna observed that as an indication that she oughtn't have said anything.

Luna blinked from Ginny to Hermione; the latter had reached the knob to a door that was slightly ajar, only to pause with a grimace as the words were spoken aloud. Simultaneously her face went ashen as the door lazed open.

In that instance… there the Frenchwoman stood.

A cool Lavender-Gray plume had engulfed the area. It covered over other surrounding aura colors. Luna would go so far as to describe the whole effect as other colors bent to its will, accepting the invasion, and trying to unite with it. Its boundaries would not be broached.

Yet…when the tint came to caress the fringes of Hermione's aura a most peculiar thing occurred. The colors mingled, tentatively at first but folded into the other willingly. Combining and seeming as they never wanted to leave the other's presence. They gave birth to a medley of colors that soothed the senses.

Ginny relaxed her hold on Luna, enough for the Ravenclaw to squirm her way from the Quidditch Chaser and move towards the source. But she was stopped as at a negating shake of Ginny's head.

Luna frowned, but understood as her eyes continued to take in the pulsing of colors that netted the pair.

She wished people could see the beauty of such unions. But…Luna supposed, only special ones could witness such things.

---

The day closed under the worst circumstances that one could ever conceive. Or had it?

It certainly ended with realizations.

With the rawness of pain still close to her, her body startled to wakefulness. As groggy as she felt, the teenager managed to peel herself from her bed.

She grabbed the top sheet from the bed and then curled it about her pained frame. Her eyes adjusted almost immediately to the dimness of the room. It was the dead of night as best she could ascertain, but her attentions were drawn suddenly towards the other form nestled in the beddings. Her bed moaned its discomfort under the weight of her bedmate. Feeling trapped, she felt the heavy desire to leave the room. Slowly she moved about her dormitory groping her dresser for a particular item. Once found she rushed her way towards her private bathroom…

"Cerrado…"

The door acquiesced and locked her in.

She sat in silence, feeling the fresh pain of her lower extremities and smelling that disgusting scent of musk and tang. As she continued to stare at the blankness of the diary her unshed tears threatened to spill onto its pages… nevertheless, the young woman began to compose one of many confessions into it.

---

_December 11_

_I opened the door, she looked at me. And I looked at her. She seemed so tired, so lost, and I wanted to crawl into her._

…_It should have been with her tonight. _

_Why._

_Why did I do it._

---

Hermione's head nested backward upon the bathroom tiles and whispered softly the name that was her salvation and her regret.

"…Fleur…"

---

**Preview:**

_The music from the Great Hall droned in the distance, serving as a rhythm keeper to their bodies. Obliviously teens danced the night away but she…She was pinned against a wall, dizzied under the effect of her companion's lust. Her fingers slipped through the silken mane, trying to ease the assault of Fleur's lips coursing along the side of her neck._

_It continued to drive into her, raising her need to such fever pitched heights that she cried out in anguished pain._

_Hermione wanted this._

_Hermione needed this._

_And Fleur would be the one to grant her every wish tonight._

--

an We're edging closer to the end – again my sincerest apologies for the sluggish movements of my posting and story telling. But it will be tied up in one form or another.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Eight.**_

_Sadness Part I_

_-Enigma-_

He licked his fingers and pressed them atop his naturally wavy head. Yet one strand refused to tame. Muttering under his breath, the wizard moved to grab a hairbrush from his nightstand.

But a young man, whose height was barely passing Neville's nose, blocked his pathway. Suddenly, the dormitory room seemed a mite small. Neville's eyes regarded a rather impish looking smirk just across his way.

"So? Whussit like"?

"What"?

Seamus face-faulted. With a quick jab, he socked Neville on his right shoulder, hoping to coax an explanation. The latter winced.

Realizing the point of this exchange Neville answered, "It's not like she an' I…y'know". He rubbed at the now tender spot and glowered at his roommate, "Get off it Seamus – I jus' work wit' er".

"Issat why you're getting' all proper-like for 'er?"

Neville pushed past Seamus reply withstanding.

"Look, all's I'm sayin' is y'are the closest one to 'er s'far". Seamus gave a vigorous rub at his neatly shorn head, "Least since 'Ermione Granger, so it's natural to wanna know what it's like bein' 'round 'er, and if… y'know, if she's really _that_ way or can she like…y'know swing back".

Neville fought an insane urge to give Seamus Finnegan the 'lay off the subject' speech. In truth… he had hoped for the same. Since the first day she had summoned for him, as days passed, the more he came to respect the woman beyond the ethereal aura.

She was sharp yet fun, meticulous yet impish and above all challenging to crack. But he never pushed. Neville assumed that was one of the main reasons he was allowed closer. The other was tucked deep in the recesses of his coat pocket.

"I've got t'go, she's been expectin' me…" Neville glanced at the room's clock, "Crikey! Twenty minnits ago!"

Seamus tailed Neville before he left the dorm, calling after him.

"Wait…wait…wait, I have te know…why'd'you reckon…I mean… Geez Nev, I mean…You?" There really was no gentle way to put it. And it was a question begging to be asked. After all, Neville Longbottom was a guy, who thrilled at collecting fungus!

Neville paused as his muscle memory kicked in automatically pulling the door towards him. He then looked back to his roommate.

"I suppose, 'cause she likes 'earing 'bout my latest find in plant species".

--

With the looming dance, sponsored by the school, organized by Fleur DeLacour – the popular Counselor of the school – excitement took hold of everyone. Providing the necessary distraction for the turn of events that shook Hogwarts.

Not that the student body paid any attention, or even showed interest in caring. As far as each student had been concerned, his or her own problems out weighed everyone else's.

Fanciful décor made from pine-scented wreaths and fairy dust appeared all over the school. Even Filch was seduced into the Yuletide spirit, though he would never admit to such a kafuffle. Seeded in Gryffindor was no different. Effervescent colors lit the nook and cranny of the common room while students who opted to stay from Hogsmeade, loafed near the hearth.

The young ones, barely hitting the twelve-year-old mark sat at the far side of the room, with gaping maws. They giggled conspiratorially amongst themselves pointing towards the elder's 'play areas'. That drew the attentions of a few older Gryffindors. There were A few that still a few students that held some form of sanity and decency. Of course they would have been called the 'left-overs' that no one dared to associate with. One particular Gryffindor tromped towards the upper tiers – _the_ clique, who was also present in the common room…

The wizard stopped short before the decadent group, quickly turning his eyes from the much-too-adult display. Searching for someone with sense, his attention was drawn to one who often showed a fiery compassion to her fellow classmates.

"Gin – could you tell 'em te stop?"

The ivory skinned teen, lazily lobbed her gaze to the couple in question then darted them back on to Colin Creevey. The movement alone caused Ginny to pause in her current duty – waxing the handle of her Quidditch ride.

"You interrupted me to tell me that, Colin"? She gaped rubbing the bridge of her brow in aggravation and shot to her feet, "I'm –busy- Creevey. Do it yourself if it bothers you s'much."

Colin whimpered in desperation, "There're kids in'ere for cryin' out loud"!

"Then have them turn towards th'wall, Col", casually offered Harry. His eyes stayed focused on the pair; obviously he was enthralled by the display. "So let's not bother the love-birds, yeah?" he grinned widely. Colin surmised that it was a rather stupid looking grin at that. The youth couldn't believe he idolized this person. Defeated, Colin slunk back towards his defined corner for existence – out of _their_ view.

But then a sharp clop of hands intermittently slapping together rung about the room, soon coupled with the crisp announcement by a heavy lilt of Irish-served-sarcasm, "Oye, Weasley yuir suckin' 'er lungs out!"

That in effect, destroyed the ambiance.

Grudgingly Ron peeled himself from off his companion, swallowing deep breaths. In the background, as Neville passed the group he made good note of Ron's features. He was flustered and irritated by Seamus' disturbance and quip. Whoever the girl of the month was must have found it equally as frustrating. Neville shook his head in disappointment.

_Hermione deserves bett-_

Neville's mind skidded to a stand still in mid-thought. For in tandem, Ron's companion pulled herself from the sofa, running her thumb over her lips. She pulled the tail end of her hair over her shoulder and offered a fingered wave towards Seamus and catching Neville's eye. She turned away.

"Yeah well Finny, y'got loads to learn about women", remarked Ron, "Count 'Mione as one o'em that likes it rough".

"Seriously, I doubt that anyone would want to hear about my sexual prowess", murmured Hermione, her insides grimaced. Yet her outside remained an austere perfection.

"Yeah, sure they don't. That's why they keep askin' about how much of a wildcat y'are in bed, love", sarcastically replied Ron.

Hermione's practiced plastic smile slipped easily over her lips.

The little group shared a genial laugh at Ron's prose, sans Ginny, before it was cut short by the din of annoyed voices. As the collective looked towards the source, they found the clumsy wizard netted in a mess of arms and legs. Hermione scrutinized her gaze on the Neville, who finally managed to wrestle his way out of the common room.

With an odd tone clinging to her words, Hermione commented aloud, "…Is he off to see the good Counselor again".

Ginny lifted her head and rested her curious gaze on her friend.

Seamus had ripped open a sucker and shoved the candied morsel into his mouth, unfortunately his saliva sputtered as he spoke. "yeth, he've been goo'in ver f'th path foo weekf".

"That's just gross, Seamus".

He grinned toothily and wiped the excess fluid with the back of his shirtsleeve.

"Can someone bloody translate that?" Hermione pulled the hem of her skirt down, but it was all for naught as Ron yanked her towards him, raping her mouth with his tongue. Hermione whimpered her objection; it only enticed Ron more.

"He just said", began Ginny quietly – causing a brief pause to rest between the couple. Catching her breath, Hermione gave a grateful nod to Ginny. With her hands firmly planted on Ron's chest, Hermione shoved herself upright. Ron rolled his eyes and loosed a growl. The Muggle motioned for the Auburn haired girl to continue.

"…That Neville's been quite the attendant for Counselor DeLacour – chalking up a few weeks worth of visits." The Chaser ran a lithe hand along the polished handle of her broom finding a decent divan to loaf on. Thinking of Hermione's curious statement, she asked simply, "Why"?

Charitably, young witch's lips flickered with a fleeting ghost of a smile, "Just that, they've gotten on rather well. Haven't they"?

Ron chirruped, "Only reason a bloke like 'im going back again an' again like tha' means he's gettin' snogged like mad".

"Just like you innit? You perverse _asshole_", spat Ginny. "There's more t'life than putting sex on a pedestal, I'm sure the counselor wouldn't bag a school-boy – it would go against her grain".

"Shu'up y'prudish slag, I weren't talkin' t'you – Fleur'd snog anythin' that touches her right – ask m'brother; 'Arry y'gotta keep your bitch's mouth occupied".

Seamus coughed. Incidentally it sounded like a stifled laugh. That earned him a spiteful glare from Ginny.

Harry lifted his hands to either side of him, "Good on you mate, but I'm not getting in this one".

The bantering slipped into indiscernible sounds that her mind couldn't or didn't want to comprehend. At the first sign of inattention Hermione liberated herself from the group. She quietly made her way from the couch and found solace by a window that was situated away from the glare of eyes.

The muggle stared out and felt her gaze drift towards the familiar - onto a lonely wing so far below. The wing she knew so well. Hermione's control wavered when her heart quickened as its doorway opened. There, in the pale afternoon light the Counselor stood. A flash of her smile came with the sudden appearance of a student, a friend. Neville Longbottom was welcomed into Fleur's graces with a simple motion into the wing.

The Head Girl felt an instant burn erupt in her – jealousy that she had no right to feel. It was kept at bay enough to tender out a question to someone that she knew who had followed her.

"What do you suppose they do…"?

Hermione gave a quick side-glance; her feeling of someone invading her privacy was confirmed.

Ginny would have been content with being a silent pillar – just to be near the muggle. But at her friend's hidden plea, she felt the need to respond. Reluctantly she replied,

"I don't know."

Hermione scoffed. Her forehead pressed to the glass. With each breath, the heat blanketed the see-through surface. It created a damp fog. Her fingers moved on their own will. Ginny watched as the idle patterns began to form a name. _F…L…E_… Quickly and angrily, Hermione smudged the letters from existence.

"Have I gone insane"?

"It's a possibility but you were always high-strung", Ginny was careful with this subject, as far as she knew; it had always been something off limits to talk about. But these little inklings were too much to resist for long, "D'you think you can talk about it"?

The door to the wing had shut. Hermione turned her eyes to her friend.

"I'm not a-a… I'm not Lesbian – if that's what you're inferring", Hermione emphatically stated.

Ginny too, turned her gaze towards the wing that housed Fleur.

"No…no I'm not. I think you established that, the night you and he…"

"-Well… wasn't it bloody time, anyway"?

"I hadn't thought there was a set period for _that_". Ginny flicked her gaze back to her friend when nothing interesting happened at the wing.

Hermione crossed her arms and stared blankly at Ginny, "Right, you all but jumped in on the action, as I recall."

"Because it was the right time and the right person."

A scoff coupled with a deadpan statement was delivered, "really".

Ginny nodded and stole a look at Harry, "The thing about giving yourself to someone, is that you don't regret it. And to be honest…I never have". Her tone was of a found remembrance and homage to a thing that wasn't given room to spread its wings.

Astounded Hermione asked, "Then why aren't you and he…"

"Together"? The Chaser smiled and winked, "I like the 'game' of making him suffer too much", then added quietly, "I love him. But…I think I realized I'm not 'in love' with him".

Hermione looked at Ginny oddly. The latter met the former's eyes in a leveled, shared gaze. But the message wasn't conveyed properly – short of a voiced confession, really. Defeated, Ginny shook her head and gave a pat to the Muggle's arm. "It'll make sense soon".

As the Auburn haired witch moved away, Hermione called out, "You haven't asked me if I…"

Ginny regarded the Head Girl for a time, "Do you need to hear it… Do you need to **hear** yourself say it"?

She smiled, Ginny understood. So Hermione nodded.

"Alright then… do you **regret** it"?

The swiftness applied to her reply surprised the Muggle. Her lips easily formed the words while her voice spoke with conviction. "Yes… And it's bothered me since".

Barely a grace of a smile was given in kind, as Ginny tendered out, "Then oughtn't you do something to fix that"?

--

With his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, Neville toyed with the contents of a pouch that was nestled safely there. Rocking on his heels he glanced around the outskirts of the wing.

The door groaned open and framed within the doorway was the platinum haired Counselor and a teen whose face was cupped between Fleur's hands. After their little exchange of soft-spoken words, the student bound past him, wiping her eyes and failing to hide the slew of sniffles his ears had caught. Neville watched the girl for a few minutes before returning his glance towards the entryway.

"Another satisfied customer", Fleur murmured with a weak smile as she pressed herself against the plane of the door. A softly offered, "Come in M'sieur Longbottom", drew him immediately into the warmth of the abode.

She led the way once more, walking through the halls. They made their way past their usual meeting place. Puzzled by that, Neville cleared his throat. Fleur replied with an errant wave of her hand over her slender shoulder, silencing him.

"I am about to 'ave an early supper, join me".

"I… er… o-o'course". Quickly the teen drew a hand from the warmth of his coat pocket and cupped it before his face, breathing into it checking if his breath was rank.

Fleur rounded a corner leading to an immaculate kitchenette. Cupping her hand aloft, a flute filled with a red tinted concoction drifted to her. As it nestled in her grasp, the Frenchwoman's tired eyes were pulled to her guest.

Her cool eyes seemed grayer than he recalled and her voice, decibels lower, was husky. "Ms DeLacour – are you alright?"

She sipped from her flute and smiled softly.

Neville rubbed the back of his already reddened neck, "Reckon I asked a dumb question".

Fleur moved towards the stove and began ladling what seemed to be soup, into two bowls. It was then that Neville realized, her hands and no quick flick of her wand made this feast. He felt the onset of an awe inspired smile creep on his face. But as she turned about, Neville ducked his head.

"I 'ope you don' mind curry, Neville…"

His insides gave a start at the sound of his first name –

"-But az you noted, I am a little under the weather and spice is always a remedy to sweat out the toxinz". She settled the bowl in front of him and proceeded to say, "Despite the spice, I still need aid. So I understand if you think me crass – But do you 'ave them m'sieur"?

Her eyes implored him silently; Neville quickly nodded and pulled the meager pouch from his coat.

"All the 'erbs you requested, as promised".

She gave a relieved sigh. With a shaking hand, Fleur nipped the pouch from the counter.

He smiled broadly as if he were rewarded with something grand. Taking up a spoon and a freshly sliced piece of bread, Neville helped himself to the steaming meal. When it touched his palette he couldn't stop himself from letting loose a groan of satisfaction. The spices swirled freely in his mouth then shimmied its way down his throat.

Neville saw Fleur station herself at her stove once more, this time, pouring the contents of the pouch into a small cauldron.

"Is…Is it because you're a Veela"? Neville swallowed, he crossed the invisible line of 'don't ask'. Quickly he began to stammer his apologies, "Sorry…I mea– Christ Ms DeLacour…" his thick digits massaged his scalp as his voice suddenly changed to a whisper, "…y'can screw a guy up somethin' good".

Fleur looked to Neville questioningly before offering, "Ms. DeLacour is my mother'z name, Neville; I think we went through this already…? Or am I truly that old"?

"A-ah… oh yeah. Not that you're aged ma'am. I mean-!"

She didn't laugh but it showed within her eyes as she looked to him.

"But to answer your question… Mm, oui. Every time I exert myself – a little more of _me_, fails", she carefully crafted her statement, adding, "The 'erbs 'elp to mend those parts."

Dipping his head towards the bowl, Neville lowered his eyes to the curry's surface. His memory recalled a few other times where students who had 'issues' sought Fleur out and had emerged from the Counselor's wing… all for the better. It never crossed his mind that more than just talking to the Counselor was being done.

That would explain why she looks drained… But why would she have to use her power at all… 

His eyes shut tight, it was too hard to think; this really wasn't his forte.

"The 'erbs are gettin' 'ard t'come by, F-fleur", Neville flushed out, "But as I 'ear – Professor Snape, he's got a whole closet o'what y'need".

"I know".

"Per'aps-"

"No". Fleur steadily stirred the contents of the pouch into the cauldron, "Doing 'tricks' for a simple trade is something I will not sacrifice myself for".

"Huh?"

The ladle dipped into the cauldron once more, but as it rose this time about, it contained a thick mass of onyx. Fleur furrowed her brows together, staring at the glob. With a tired chuckle she answered:

"It means spreading my legs iz not an option any longer. _Especially_, with M'sieur Snape".

A hollow cough exploded from his chest – whether it was induced by the Cayenne laced in the curry or Fleur's quip, Neville didn't know how to handle the matter.

"Mes excuses à vous, Neville. My lips move faster than my brain".

In the midst of lapping up noisily at a glass of water, Neville gave a shake of his head and smiled lopsidedly. He returned to watching her. She had by this time, tipped a vial into the cauldron. It was filled by the blackish tar.

Fleur sighed and held it aloft, "To your health".

He lifted of what remained of his glass, "Y'mean to ours, right"?

"If I made this potion right, oui", kittenishly remarked the Frenchwoman.

"Y'pardon me if I don' laugh, ma'am"

"Touche", Fleur pressed the rim of the vial against her bottom lip and reluctantly tipped the still steaming contents down her gullet.

Suppressing a shudder, the silver haired witch began feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline thumping through her veins. Her blurred vision slowly came into focus, but the base of her head, retained the dull stab of a headache.

After a few tense seconds, of which notably found Neville off his seat, the wizard saw a considerable change root into the woman. Though not by much, he immediately drew his form alongside the Counselor, tucking an arm about her waist.

"It's takin' longer t'kick in…" Neville voiced in concern. Reflexively as the wizard aimed to steady her, his arm grew taut and in effect, drew the slightly taller counselor, closer.

Her face turned towards Neville while her hand coasted the length of his arm. From the close proximity, he could feel the heat of every breath she took. This was Fleur DeLacour – in his arms; not pulling back. It was a sign, wasn't it?

_A chance_.

Neville felt his head reach forward.

"…Stop… Neville, I…"

Loosening his arm from about her waist, Neville quickly pulled away, prattling non-sensically, "You were there, I just… so close, I couldn't… I mean, I know you're not akin te men; which I'm sure 'Ermione Granger can attest to, but…well not really…Bill Weasley's I'm sure's got somethin' te say abou' that…Bloddy 'ell…I just…"

"-M'elle Granger"? Fleur managed to sneak in, as Neville took a breath.

"well…t'wasn't a, I mean – Counselor, y've got t'ave known what was bein' said?"

"In passing, it was never a main concern for me…" she murmured in reply, finding comfort with her arms wrapped about her mid-section. "But since we are on the topic, how is she? The last we spoke", Fleur paused, "M'elle Granger was under extreme duress".

"I dunno – Alright, I assume seein' how she's summat been abouts with Ron Weasley lately".

She nodded curtly before proceeding to ask, "And my sister…"? Fleur hated to have thrown these matters to the young wizard, but he had proven to be of stolid make and wanted to help her anyway he could; the corruption of Hogwarts through petty emotions had barely scratched the innocence of his stature. Dimwitted, Neville was not. She had no clue though, why some were being heavily toyed with while others…were free.

"She's b'come a toast of a certain crowd, always surrounded by 'er group. Does she not visit you? I mean, I guess your work makes it difficult".

Fleur acquiesced with a stiff nod accompanied with a whispered prose, meant as a plea for a pitying ear. "I 'ave not been a good sister. One of the many sins I 'ave not been absolved for."

The unheard prose glanced off her current companion…Neville lowered his eyes, to focus upon his wrestling hands, "Jus' want'say – I got no clue what came over me… I jus'… You were _there"_.

Fleur moved closer to Neville, slowly extending her hand towards his bent head. Her fingers wove through the thick of his bangs, "Under the circumstances, who knows what may 'ave 'appened. But…"

Oh how he loved how he felt with her…

"I know, I know… I'm young for one… and-"

"-I cannot bring myself to, at all", interjected Fleur.

He stared at her incredulously, "I can't reckon why, you've got t'be a helluva kisser".

Fleur chuckled and managed to lift Neville's chin with the plane of her index finger, until their eyes met, "Merci, m'sieur Longbottom for the vote in confidence".

He smiled nervously but that soon faded. "Can I ask why"?

"Because…", quietly began Fleur, "it would 'urt me should I ever".

She watched the confusion color Neville's face and thought it adorable. "An explanation for another time – A more pressing matter is at hand…"

With that, the witch summoned the advertisement posters drawn up for the Yuletide dance. She handed them towards her shy committee member, "We all need something to be happy about".

--

Layer on layer of pristine white dusted the earth. It heralded the death of the old year. While within the snowed-upon compound, the Great Hall was transformed into a massive wonderland of dreams. Inside, a celebration was in full bloom.

A collective mass of bodies clogged the veins leading towards the hub of the Hall, all dressed in their casual best waiting for the doors to open. Unlike the Yule Ball, this dance did not coincide with the Tri-Wizard tourney. Nor did it demand formal attire. As its posters announced, this was just a celebration for the end of exams.

But it couldn't've happened at a better time…

As the doors bellowed its aged welcome, the lucky few that trickled in first cast their eyes on the most incredible spell-casting. Inside was comfortable, yet cool. Each breath the students took became visible as they exhaled. Crystalline sculptures of the founding fathers and mothers of Hogwarts dressed the nooks. While in the middle of the room an immaculately carved shield was standing in silent testimony to the school. Each House crest was carefully reproduced in the shield.

Overhead instruments hung in mid air giving aid to the ambiance, by stringing out melodious gentle tunes. The ceiling shifted into the never-ending winter sky; cherubic beings would whisk in, sprinkling particles of ice that transformed to flurries among the populace.

The handpicked committee that worked along side Fleur scurried amongst the student body offering ice skates for 'just in case' purposes. As soon some found out when the floor became semi slick. But not as iced-over as the main dance-floor.

Tucked possessively at Ron's side, Hermione set foot into the Hall. She was dressed in semi casual attire, form-fitting jeans and a light-colored Kashmir-esque sweater top. A gentle, magical wind blew through the hall, stirring her loosed hair about her face. With her hand easing from Ron's arm, she attempted to tame her locks.

"Woah". Ginny rounded about the group, entering the Hall last. "This is literally…very cool".

Hermione smiled, "They've certainly outdone themselves". Her eyes swept through the immense hold. Hoping for just one glimpse.

Ron hooked a finger in one of Hermione's belt loops on her jeans and pulled her back whispering into her exposed ear, "Not too far, eh"?

She hesitantly nodded.

"M'sieur Weasley…"

The Muggle's insides twisted as her head dizzied from the assault of so few words.

"…You cannot 'ope to glue yourself to M'elle Granger all night, non"?

Hermione's eyes listed closed for a moment, embracing the comforting lilt of the Frenchwoman's voice.

"If it'll keep wandering eyes 'n 'ands offa 'er, yeah…" he replied in a grunt. It didn't stop Ron from raking his eyes over the Headmistress, alternating his gaze between Fleur and Hermione. "I 'ave t'say, Counselor, you are lookin' extremely…luscious this evenin'".

Hermione heard the lust-crave slipping into Ron's voice - heavy with implications. When Fleur rounded to the fore, the muggle could see why the inference was heavy in Ron's reaction.

She moved with assured confidence, perfumed with grace and elegance. Tonight was nothing less than she expected of the French Witch. Fleur's hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, allowing for a few strands to dust about her bared shoulders, which were immediately covered, by a draped silken scarf. As if echoing the peoples of India, Fleur's body was wrapped within an ice colored Shalwar Kamese brandishing her toned mid-rift; her legs were barely hidden under the length-wise skirt she sported, the only hint of flesh was the enticing slit that ended mid thigh.

This was the vision she was granted with and this was the very same that stole Hermione Granger's breath.

"I could have sworn the posters read 'casual attire'…," questioned Ginny. Thusly, tugged the Head Girl from the headspace she dwelled within. Dazed, she glanced towards the red head and received a wink – but the Muggle wasn't consoled.

"A girl likes to look good every now and again… No crime, oui"? With a slight smile and a tilt of her head, she unabashedly stole a look upon Hermione, "Unless it offends…or annoys".

Hermione shook her head, before finally finding her voice and offering brokenly, "I… think you look… beautiful".

Ron arched his brow, scrutinizing Hermione as Ginny failed to hide her smirk and Fleur did as she did best, replying in that arrogant manner:

"But of course," her eyes shifted swiftly, never remaining on Hermione for long. Thankfully and on queue, Neville appeared with ice-skates in tow he handed the pairs off to all present, "Bienvenue à la danse, and enjoy your night. excusez-moi". Her feet carried her as quickly as they could from the awkward situation and Neville hurried after her.

Hermione glanced towards Neville and only managed to meet his gaze for a brief moment. Guilt, shame and sorrow were conveyed in that fleeting span.

"Someone's definitely pussy-whipped," quipped Ron.

"Ron…get off it, Neville's a good guy".

"Tha' a fact?" He turned to Hermione and said, "From th'way you were lookin' at him, love, I'd say he you'd wanted t'ring 'is neck. Why is tha'?"

The muggle born teen laughed mirthlessly, pulling upon the hidden well of charm that resided in her, "Less talk, more play. How about you and the boys rustle up some drinks… I promise to give you a reward on your return…"

Ron stared at her and nodded amicably. Rounding up the rest of the motley crew, the boys headed towards the wet bar hosting the drinks.

"That was…"

"Deliberately vile?"

Ginny stymied her laugh. On seeing Luna waving from a distance, she grabbed Hermione by the wrist, tugging her along, "I thought it was rather smooth of you actually…Now c'mon Luna's holding our table." Ginny sideglanced her friend and teased after sometime, "She looked… _good…_I'm surprised you're even walking straight."

"H-how could you even SUGGEST…?"

"Lookit yourself, 'Mione…She's got you all bunched up and aching inside!"

Hermione shot daggers at Ginny, who only waved errantly at the muggle.

"As much as…," Ginny whirled about, taking Hermione's hands into her own, "…I love you," the chaser paused to allow the words spoken sink in, when they didn't, she continued, "…and adore you, you can be utterly DENSE – You've just started playing this 'game'; Fleur DeLacour has played it since per'aps, I dunno… her BIRTH!"

Hermione lolled her head backward and insipidly replied, "Game? THIS? Toying with me?"

Ginny loosened her hands and gave a genial shrug before taking a few more steps towards their table.

"If that…that **woman** wants a game… She'll bloody well regret messing with me…"

But even before she could utter her disagreement, the Muggle slipped into the mass of bodies. Ginny smacked her forehead with the butt of her palm. Then a gentle pressure of a hand upon her shoulder was felt pulling her out of her reverie.3

"Did you get it?" innocently questioned Luna.

"What?"

"The Cookle that was buzzing about your head, is it smashed?"

Ginny sigh exasperatedly. _Another one of the girl's blasted mis-conceptions_, "Luna, really I don'-"

Luna's slender index finger gently pressed against Ginny's lips – effectively silencing the taller teenager. Her doe-shaped eyes regarded her friend in quiet. Slowly, the same finger trailed over the contour of Ginny's lips. Luna smiled.

"You've seriously got to learn how to take a little joke, Ginny." Luna walked backward a toddle and let her blonde locks drape over her shoulder as her head canted, "Can I entice you to join me for a drink?"

At a loss for words… Ginny Weasley nodded slowly.

--

"Give it 'ere Dean."

"Harry, I think that one's got enough innit!"

The scarred young man, laughed, "Enough is never enough. Jus' a bit more, ey?"

"Jus' wotch out for them 'Ead boys an' girls," Ron then gave a mocking smack to his head, "Oh 'ey…I'm one!"

They shared a laugh, only to have it interrupted by Hermione's presence. She eyed the group cautiously, but her mind at this point was so linear that even if a rock hit her, it wouldn't register. The muggle had looped her arms about Ron's shoulders carefully and methodically began to whisper in his ear. All the while gently nipping at his lobe.

Her voice was raspy, with a breathy sigh as she requested: "Ron… Dance with me."

Too much to resist, Ron nodded listlessly, "Gimme a sec love – lemme get us those drinks, ey?"

"If y'can't spare the time Weaslebee even for your lady-friend, let someone who's able to, care for her… and her needs."

Draco Malfoy had a lascivious underlying smile, etched on his near-perfect features. He stood behind the pair, clad in his signature, dapper black suit. Draco's hair was uncharacteristically worn long, just ending at the nape of his neck.

"Says you mate," Ron boomed back, "Or do I need t'introduce your face t'my fist again?"

Hermione quickly stepped between the towering boys. Despite the brewing of a storm, the dance continued. Intermittently, eyes speared their way, including _hers_. Fleur was across the hall, pristine as the sculptures that flanked her – watching Hermione's every move.

Malice was never inherent in the Muggle. Weaving a web of jealousy though…

"Boys, it IS the holidays… So let's us all…get in the sharing mood." Hermione grabbed both their hands maneuvering towards the outskirts of the floor, where footing was still assured.

Lopsided smirks traversed over Draco's and Ron's lips; and with an inaugural swig of the glass flute Ron carried… he poured the contents into Hermione's partially opened mouth.

So began the night…

--

At the third song, she realized she needed to stop. It was asinine to keep on. Fleur finally tore her eyes from the dance floor. But a nagging sensation whispered at the back of her mind, this whole scene felt amiss. She would have liked to believe it was nothing more than teenaged hormones…

"Merry…whatever the proper holiday is."

Fleur turned about pressing the small of her back against the frosted banister. Her cerulean gaze was met with a set identical to hers.

The teen approached out of nowhere it seemed, placing both her hands at Fleur's sides. She planted them on the railway as she smiled towards the same heightened Veela.

"You are positively radiant."

"Where have you been…"

"Ohhh… so you DID miss me. I didn't think you'd notice." Gabrielle flicked her eyes towards the floor then back to Fleur. "Seeing how you were so 'busy' and all."

"Stop avoiding the question."

Gabrielle pulled back, only enough to coast her hand over the length of her sister's arm. She cupped the elder woman's neck and murmured, "Give us a kiss first."

"You're sick," replied Fleur softly.

"Then play nurse to my patient," cheekily insinuated Gabrielle.

The elder DeLacour pushed from her sister, "Did you do it? Because members of the Order have suggested…"

"-I…don't know what you're getting at." It was an earnest reply.

Fleur furrowed her brows and glanced towards her sister. Her beloved younger sister. And the one person, she couldn't read. Fleur's powers were cancelled when it dealt with blood relations.

"Yes. I –was- Lavender's attendant, yes I was there that night…how could you even…Fleur…we're blood!" The hurt was there hugging close to Gabrielle's words.

Guiltily, Fleur averted her eyes. The conversation she had with Tonks not more than a few days, had a valid point, everything fit… Everything pointed to her sister.

From the edge of the balcony, a soft clearing of someone's throat was heard. Both sisters glanced to the source. Neville squirreled his way from the curtains.

"I-I'm sorry for the intrusion. But I think we've centered in on wha's wrong 'ere. Ah, we need your 'elp Counselor."

With a nod afforded towards the wizard, Fleur locked her eyes on the younger DeLacour. Easing her way to her, she cupped her sister's face between her cool hands and pressed her lips to Gabrielle's forehead. "Come to my wing tonight. We need to talk."

After Fleur descended to the lower level. Gabrielle remained for a bit longer upon the balcony, her back pressed to the nearest wall. Her head tilted backward and her eyes stared into the endless magic induced skyline. She knew where and to whom her sister was going to. Silently her plea soared.

"You said it was always going to be us, Fleur. Somehow, I don't think you're going to keep that promise, sis."

--

At the order of the Counselor the bowls of beverages were replaced one by one and her committee members rotated by twos to observe the goings on of the table. Luckily it seemed that whatever drink was spiked; the majority of the partygoers hadn't taken part of the underhanded celebrations. Those that were, were escorted out. Only a few remained.

"If you'd rather I do it Fleur…" hesitated Neville.

"They are my responsibility", her intonation was icy and caused the wizard the swallow inexplicably.

The threesome looked as if they were a writhing, sentient mass of limbs. All were red faced and sweaty. Hermione broke through the entanglement and laughed curtly at seeing Fleur.

All eyes in the Hall pivoted their way…

"This…is an…absolutely…WONDEROUS party, Counselor D.," the teenager grinned lazily, cupping Draco and Ron's face before reaching forth and touched Fleur's lips with her finger tips, breathlessly asking, "Say you'll dance with? It'll just be us, if you want – like in your wing, remember?"

The stench was rank upon Hermione's breath and caused Fleur to turn her head away in distaste breifly. Slowly the Veela moved closer towards the three, her eyes focused on Hermione. Her hands came to rest on both boys' necks. Immediately a white-hot burn erupted from within them. Buckets of their perspiration poured from their porous flesh. As the enchantress's hands dropped she hissed out, "You two will return to your roomz until further notice…NOW."

In a haze and partially dehydrated, Ron and Draco back peddled out of the way.

Hermione blinked about, feigning a pout until she leaned forth whispering conspiratorially to Fleur, "Will you touch me and make me hot like that?" capping that off with a laugh.

Fleur glanced towards Neville and it set him hurrying towards the pair. Hermione wrinkled her nose and yipped, "Ah yes…Neville, faithful gopher! Your mistress calls!"

"She's b'yond snockered Fleur…"

"Oh… whas' this, on firs' name basis now? Oh my…dreadfully scandalous wouldn't you say?"

"Carry M'elle Granger to 'er room. I will be there shortly."

Complying, Neville reached for Hermione's arm, but the latter resisted.

"Please! Leggo Nev…I'm not joking!"

"I'm real sorry 'Ermione." Pulling his wand from his back jean pocket, Neville swallowed and said, _"Inanimateria."_

Hermione's body went limp, making his job easier.

As Neville left, Fleur spoke with the committee, and what teachers were present, they agreed to continue the dance. Leaving her to deal with the raucous-makers. But before she had the chance to retreat after Neville, Ginny and Luna stopped her.

"What are you gonna do with her?" It was Ginny who called out.

"Help her regain her senses."

"She only did that to get your attention."

"There were other ways," Fleur simply answered.

"Yeah, well…you do idiotic things when you're in lo-."

"-I suggest you re-think what you're about to say, M'elle Weasley." The Frenchwoman added courteously, "I think we all know that I lack certain 'fundamentals' she so obviously requires. If you both excuse me…"

Ginny and Luna to one another then back to the woman who cantered out of the Hall, in idle fascination.

"Mm. Well," started Luna thoughtfully "…that's why there are specialized toy makers." She paused and smiled. "Of all people…you'd think she'd know **that**…"

Thankfully, there was clamoring of students in the Hall that swallowed Ginny's laughter.

--

The light was low in the room, but as the door to the Head Girl's inner chamber swung open, the gloom was cut with the torchlight hugging the outer hall. Neville sat on a lone divan near the entryway. He immediately stood as the Counselor entered.

"Is she…?"

"Out cold, still. I thought I should wait."

Fleur nodded.

"If you need anythin' more…I'll guess I'll uh, be downstairs."

"Merci, Neville." With a nod of his mop top head, he took his leave.

Quietly, the Veela edged closer to the bed, shedding her scarf. With her left hand aloft, a murmured incantation free fell from Fleur's lips. "I shouldn't be taking pleasure in this…BUT…"

A small tin pail materialized into her grasp, filled to the brim with water. Carefully, she tipped the overflowing pail over her victim. Hermione stirred instantaneously. Her body jolted upright, drenched to the core. Mopping her face with both hands the Muggle took in mouthfuls of air.

As her senses came to, her eyes shifted about the room, finally focusing on her assailant. Hermione rubbed her eyes hissing out through gritted teeth: "What the hell do you mean by this?"

"I thought you could use a little cooling off". Fleur brought herself to Hermione's nightstand and gently blew over the extravagant candelabra situated on it. "Especially with 'ow you were getting so 'eated with your boyfriend and M'sieur Malfoy."

Hermione shook her damp locks, still suffering from the effects of alcohol. But she managed to pull herself from her soaked beddings. She glared at Fleur, "My BED, Counselor DeLacour!" The Muggle slowly grabbed at her forehead, "Look, it was all harmless fun."

"So harmless your 'ead iz 'urting, no?"

"Just…why don't you just leave me be?" Hermione struggled her way to her private restroom, erstwhile trying to undress, she came to pause at its entryway.

Fleur watched Hermione quietly, letting the sting of the teen's words absorb. Softly she answered, "If that iz what you wish, but for now, az my duty deems it – a reprimand iz in order for your participation with your boyf-"

Turning sharply on her heel, Hermione pleaded, "Will you just PLEASE shut up! He's not my…" Her brows furrowed looking across the way to Fleur, "…He's not".

The Veela crossed the expanse, stopping before Hermione. Tenderly, her hands grasped at the hem of the youth's sweatertop. "Let's get you ready for bed…I'll…go a'ead an' clean up the mess out 'ere."

Hermione gripped helplessly at Fleur's hands. The Veela chuckled and looked directly into the Muggle's eyes, "You don't 'ave to worry, I am certain we 'ave the same plumbing, no?"

"You don't believe me," Hermione whispered finally. "he's not…we're not… We just…"

"You can't even bring yourself to say it," Fleur pressed gently. "'Ow else should I refer to 'im?" She sighed, "What do you want from me 'Ermione…"

Her heart quickened – sobriety came on swift wings - while her fingers laced gently between Fleur's, guiding the elder in lifting her damp sweater. Hermione's gaze never left the Veela's and for the first time, saw a flicker of uncertainty. This placed a timid smile over the Muggle's lips.

As the article of clothing pooled about the teenager's feet…She drew herself closer to the elder female. Reluctantly, her fingers slipped from Fleur's as she reached up to pull the woman's bun free from its laxed constraints. Hair of silver-platinum spilled downward.

Hermione's hand cupped Fleur's face, tracing every nuance with her fingertips, eventually in their exploration found the Veela's lips. Partially opened, Hermione watched in aching fascination as Fleur's lips manipulated the pads of her digits into her mouth.

She began by applying gentle suction to the teenager's thumb accompanied with a flick of her tongue. The Frenchwoman lavished each finger, while a hand coursed the canvas of Hermione's nubile body…Fleur trailed to the girl's still buttoned jeans. Deftly her fingers worked Hermione free.

The muggle drowned under the heady scent of her arousal and wanted more. She pulled her fingers from Fleur's lips, leaving a trail of the woman's saliva, from her collarbone to the thin fabric that dared to cover the Veela's already erect nipples, her thumb grazed over them incessantly, drawing a delicious moan from the Veela with each pass. Hermione nipped gently at the underside of Fleur's jawline, soon, snatching Fleur's lobe between her lips…

An unsteady breath tore from Hermione's throat intermixed with her confession.

"You want my answer?" Hermione swallowed, "You…What I want…is **you.**"

Fleur felt her skirt tear from her companion's sudden ferocity. Hermione knew exactly where to touch, what to whisper…playing the Veela like a finely tuned instrument. Her leg was hooked about the girl's waist, and her mouth tasted her flesh. Fleur's head listed backward at the impulsive invasion of the Muggle's fingers dabbling close to her all too slick divide. The undone jean's fabric added to the out of control assault, rubbing violently against her sensitized nether region. Shockwaves electrocuted her from the inside – she knew she was close. The Veela draped her arms about Hermione, resting her forehead on the teen's own hoping to stave the battering.

"'Ermione…"

_closer…_

"'_Ermione…!", _Fleur gasped.

Cocoa eyes looked up, laced with confusion.

"Not like this…"

"How else _is _there…?"

The innocence coated by Hermione's words coaxed a gentle laugh from the Veela. With much hesitancy Fleur took Hermione by her hands, placing gentle kisses to the muggle's palm…accompanied with intermittent grazing of her teeth upon Hermione's wrists. An erogenous zone that kept the girl's appetite afloat, all the while guiding her backward to the bed. With a genial dip of her head, Hermione took her queue and sat at the edge of the wet bed.

Fleur towered her and felt the dregs of nervousness hit her. The Veela within was confused. Fleur DeLacour, had always been the hunted, the one they wanted. Attachments came few and far between.

As she looked into Hermione's eyes, Fleur knew it was more than just.

Slowly, without wavering her gaze, the Veela began to undress for the Muggle. Her body was lean, almost devoid of fat. She was toned and unblemished. And as the silk wear tumbled from her nude form, the nerves rocked her to her core. Fleur could feel the wetness seep from her as Hermione's eyes devoured every inch she could see.

Fleur sank to her knees, crawling the remaining gap that lay between them. Hermione instinctively reached for a handful of Fleur's silken mane, trying to draw the woman into a kiss. The Veela effectively avoided the act, as she instead closed her lips over the length of Hermione's neck.

The drone of music emitting from the dance, dictated their rythym…

Hermione wanted this.

Hermione needed this.

And Fleur…would be the one to give it to her…

Her hands busied to remove the last bits of clothing that covered the teenager. Fleur's body nestled between Hermione's thighs while her hands roamed without obstruction, tantalizing the girl's sensitive skin.

The Veela's mouth was hot, that's all Hermione knew as it took in her exposed areole, teasing the pert nub. Each flick of her tongue over the flat of the nub, in turn, gave the girl a quiver from within. She was on her back gripping ferociously at the sheets. Suddenly… the same emanating heat that only Fleur's lips could impart, moved down further along her form. Her mind reeled, but her body caved under its need. And farther she went…

She parted her legs further, giving Fleur her permission.

White knuckled, Hermione gripped viscously to her beddings. She bit her lower lip to keep herself from crying out. But with each tiny piston of Fleur's tongue within her it begged for acknowledgement. Her body arched as the sudden flush of release overcame the Muggle. In a breathless, whimper… Fleur's name covered the girl's lips.

And the place it belonged.

--

Every hour on the hour, the Hogwarts' clock boomed somberly. It tolled now, deep and resounding telling all, that it just hit two o'clock in the morning.

Ginny rolled out of bed, as it is customary of her to do so, especially giving heavy consideration to her over flowing bladder. Stifling a yawn, the Chaser waved her wand lazily and said: "Wingardrium Leviosa…ah and…Locomoto." A kerosene lantern, rose through the air and trailed after her.

As she crossed the girl's dorm, a flicker of light was seen parallel from where she was situated. It was near the Head Girl's room. The only private room - aside from the Head Boy's - in Griffyndor tower. Deciding her bladder could wait…She crossed the hold.

"The Head Girl would most definitely not appreciate a peeping tom at this hour."

Whoever it was, ssh'ed her immediately.

Vexed, she tromped onward, "Like hell I will! Reckon you'd better divvy up who you are or…Nev?"

"Yah, now will you shush?"

"What the _HELL_ are you doing?"

"Workin' onna spell." Neville paused and looked at Ginny, "I…need th'practice."

"At this hour? Are you mad?" Ginny balked, "You look like you're about t'shite a turd instead of spellcasting. An' why infronta 'Mione's…"

All was answered when a voice called out from behind the Head Girl's door: "OH GOD!…I can't…hold on…_FLEUR_!"

They shared a glance and quickly Ginny asked, "Silencio spell?"

Neville shook his head, "It lasts for _only _thirty minutes, or…at least until the caster loses concentration, and well…you know."

Ginny gaped.

Neville nodded.

--

AN – _Happy Holidays. Apologies for the length. But hopefully this suffices...It'll all be over soon..._


	9. Chapter 9

_**Nine.**_

Sleep is a God-send for most and she could have slept through to the afternoon. The beddings had been discarded from the still damp bed, save for a single layer sheet. She found herself wrapped in it wide-awake. Hermione's mind was abuzz with activity, replaying what she could remember, events that happened just hours before. Her eyes wandered to her bedmate; she could still feel the rawness of Fleur's mouth roaming every inch of her body. That feeling though was overridden by an undeniable tingle that her lips felt.

Her fingers trailed over the contour of it and felt the succulence. Hermione smiled and shook that feeling off as nothing more than the dregs of what her body just went through. Everything tingled.

The exploration brought her cresting over the edge more than twice. She dared not count. It embarrassed her _…_ Hermione instead, took refuge from her thoughts and watched her companion slumber. Quiet, unlike she was _used_ to. Everything was softer; Fleur's touch, Fleur's whispered coaxing…Fleur's body on hers. Only one thing remained out of her imagination. And one Hermione began to crave more and more.

She wanted Fleur's lips on hers. They were a gentle hue, full and glossed lightly with a damp sheen. They quietly beckoned her. Just how much softer are _they_?

They were so close; Hermione could just…lap the excess fluid that clung to them.

" 'Aven't you 'ad enough yet…?" it was a guttural tease. Enough to send Hermione's face buried into the crook of Fleur's neck and shoulder.

"I…forry! I juft wan'ed…"

With a smile, Fleur reached out and pulled Hermione's healthy mane back, enough to reveal the girl's ear, "I cannot 'ear a word you're saying...'Err-My-O-Nee."

Hermione peeled her face from Fleur's neck, placing chaste kisses along the line of the Veela's throat, "Honestly…" breaking the pattern of her kisses with words, "If you insist on purring…" another kiss just behind Fleur's ear, "… my name that way…" a nip, "…I may _just…_" the line of kisses just barely began to reach the corner of Fleur's lips, closer to her goal.

Carefully, Fleur turned her head upwards placing a kiss upon the tip of Hermione's nose, "I regard that as an honor in itself," prodded Fleur, understanding the innuendo. Slowly the Frenchwoman untangled herself and rose from the bed. She began the unenviable task of weeding through the mess for her undergarment.

Hermione remained on the bed, tucking an arm under her head studying Fleur – feeling put out by her advances. There was nothing that the Muggle didn't…_love_ about what Fleur did…

_Love?_

Carried away by the opening of her drapes, the word that echoed in Hermione's mind, faded. She was more concerned of the quiet that settled in the room.

"Why won't you kiss me?" The question was blurted out without thought.

The Veela paused in her dressing but Hermione continued, "Don't get me wrong…The _sex_ was amazing! But isn't kissing a part of that affair – Mind, I don't _think _I'm that _bad_…", She laughed.

Fleur continued to dress quietly regarding the first question until the latter statement was said – the words that the girl uttered stung her implicitly. Then again, it was _just_ sex. As it always _is._

The Muggle nibbled upon her lower lip. She decided to pull her frame upright. Hearing no reply, she reached out letting her fingers trail upon the small of Fleur's back, a spot that Hermione found during the night – It caused Fleur many times over to loose a soft gasp followed by an even quieter laugh. A musical laugh. The Muggle smiled as the Frenchwoman's body complied once more.

"I…I'm sorry, I suppose it's a childish question." Pressed Hermione.

As she slipped the torn skirt over her slim form, she gave a soft utterance, _"Inmendo."_ The lining of the skirt stitched itself to its original make. When she turned to face Hermione, the teenager caught a distinct air of warring within the Veela. Then…

The Counselor knelt alongside the bed, she inclined her head studying the girl's features – remembering every detail. From the shy downturn of her lips, the inquisitive doe-shaped eyes that burned constantly with the need to know. Fleur's eyes, brilliant in their crystalline coloration, met with Hermione's. Extending her hand forth, the elder woman's fingers tenderly wove through the thick of the Muggle's hair. Without a word, she drew closer to the teenager.

"It's such a trivial thing, oui?" Fleur tendered out accompanied by a curt laugh.

Hermione scrutinized the knelt Veela – she couldn't breathe. Something…changed.

"Just…enjoy what was shared last night." The Veela finally managed to utter. She rose to her feet, glancing briefly at the door to the Head Girl's wing. And decided the betterment against leaving by conventional means. With a marriage of her hands eliciting a sharp clop, the Veela slowly pulled her hands away from one another and her wand materialzed between.

_She's leaving! _

_And you're panicking. Why Hermione?_

The teen's mind reeled. It was being invaded. She looked helplessly towards Fleur.

"…Wait…Fl..will I see you again?"

"Of course, 'Ogwarts is not so big of a school, non?"

"That's…well, I mean it's not quite what I had in mind…"

_Tell her! _

_What? That she's a better fuck than that meat you call a boyfriend?_

Hermione lowered her face, enough so that her fingers would press against the bridge of her nose; in hopes to stymie the confused thoughts and thump of a newly born headache.

_Ah that's right…It was just a romp, horizontal mambo, bed bouncing… wasn't it? That's why you want to see her again?_

"Oh?" questioned Fleur dragging Hermione back to the now. The latter lifted her head as then the room began spinning maliciously.

"…no," whispered Hermione. It was an answer to that voice, that question, rather than a response to Fleur.

"Then," softly started the Veela, "…what?"

But…before the girl could voice her reply, an urgent rapping to her door was heard. It pulled their attentions towards it.

"I'm coming in… niceties withstanding."

The voice had said and in little more than a breath had fed Hermione's lungs as the door swung wide announcing the party. Grabbing the sheets just in time, Hermione bundled herself within the mess.

Planting a hand over the flare of her hip Fleur regarded the small group. With a slight motioning nod of her head, Neville spirited about and quickly shut the door.

"Gin an' I tried, Fleur…," Offered the wizard apologetically then shot his gaze towards the Muggle adding, "…'Mione. But y'see when a Professor wants in…"

"Nymphadora," crisply acknowledged Fleur, immediately silencing Neville as she stared past the teens.

The shorter female looked less than amused walking into the room, only briefly coursing her gaze over a very embarrassed Hermione Granger. She advanced towards Fleur harshly whispering, "Yer a counselor fer chissake! This is _not_ what the Order deems as 'elping these kids!"

Fleur burrowed that quiet intensity onto Tonks. "It was…a momentary lapse in judgement…It won't 'appen again."

"Damned right it won't."

The Veela regarded the resolute statement and knew the unspoken truth that hid behind them."If what 'Eadmaster Dumbledore mentioned is true…"

Tonks agreed with a singular bob of her 70's-esque 'doo. "…Everything goes back to normal – "

Ginny quickly whisked her way towards the bed, unconcerned with adult politicking. Neville followed suit, looking worse for wear at this point. Hermione had barely registered the pair; instead took an intense fixation on observing the ongoings between Fleur and Tonks.

Concerned, the red head sat gently upon the bed's edge, extending her hand to Hermione's pallid cheek. Through clenched teeth and a valiant effort to stymie the sudden eruption of jealousy in her, Ginny gamely…calmly asked her friend, "Hey…are you alright?"

"What's going on?"

"You're not hurt are you? Did she _hurt_ you?"

"Gin – what? No! Merlin's beard no…No," her voice softened, "….she's so gentle with me…" Hermione paused in desperation – her face beet red; she then whispered back, "You're not answering my question!"

Neville eagerly glanced his tired eyes towards the elder women who had now shifted farther from the three of them before returning his attentions towards Ginny and Hermione, "Professor Tonks'd been goin' 'round… mentioned t'th'rest o'the 'Ouses tha' term's come to an end this year."

Ginny nodded, "But no one's been allowed to leave."

"No one's allowed to _leave_?" Hermione blinked, "Just what are they expecting?"

Quietly the collective drew their gaze towards the far off corner of the massive room. The muggle's gaze immediately focused on Fleur.

"…Tonight is when we act. It was decided," Tonks studied the Veela's countenance. There was no trace of concern, only a serene calm. "If it comes down to it…"

"You deal with what you need to and I will up'old my end."

"The moles are plenty in 'Ogwarts, Fleur – but we still firmly maintain tha' yuir sister…"

"I've said my piece, Nymphadora," replied the woman, absorbing the inference.

Suddenly feeling sapped of whatever ray of happiness she had, Fleur lowered her gaze but she was unable to keep them from trailing back towards the bed. Hermione met her eyes, tempting her with bittersweet beckoning from afar with a gentle smile. Fleur quietly acknowledged her first mistake of sharing Hermione's bed; her second came in the form of a soft kiss, stolen as the young woman slept.

It was the only thing tied to her heart that Fleur had left to give of importance to anyone. To the _only_ one.

As her focus lingered over Hermione… the first tendrils of smoke began to swallow the Veela. With a mouthed _adieu _and a quiet smile, Fleur slipped from the room, leaving in her wake, a mist of icy hued colors.

Hermione felt herself tremble under the weight of Fleur's stare; her breath was coxed out of her body as the Veela apparated from her view. Something left along with the Frenchwoman, the room though dressed in the opulence of light felt cold and inhuman. Blinking furtively she turned to her companions, not understanding what just transpired.

Ginny gave a sympathetic rub of her friend's arm – she fought the desperate monster that wanted to scream at Hermione to open her eyes. Neville unsure offered a weak smile.

When Hermione's questioning look turned to Tonks, demanding an explanation and pleaded silently for some kind of answer as to what was happening to her. The normally effervescent professor only said:

"DeLacour 'ad business to attend to – she passed 'er goodbyes to you lot." Tonks paused long enough to toss a few of Hermione's clothes from her drawers towards the teen, " 'ere it's a mite nippy even in th'castle. Reckon it won't do for th'Ead Girl to show up in nothing but 'er birthday suit, yeah?"

Hermione acknowledged with a soft, "Right". The tossed clothes landed upon her still covered thighs, she stared at them for a long bit, before Ginny tentatively called her name pulling her from her thoughts. She smiled briefly to her friend. Hermione slipped from under the covers and absently began to dress herself.

Neville respectively turned about, barely able to avert his gaze.

"Look I need'ja all t'help calm the populace. Lotta confused people running around downstairs."

"We'll get on it Professor," quipped Neville. He stole a glance about him and took note of the girls, "Fact…I'll uh, go an' git tha' started."

Apparently having accepted the wizard's promise, Tonks hadn't wasted any time, she apparated from the room. Following suit and feeling out of place, Neville made his excuses leaving the pair alone.

"It must be rather important. If the Order's involved, I mean."

Ginny spared a look at her friend while her hands busied themselves, folding the damp beddings. Her nostrils flared slightly at the distinct smell of sex clinging to the disposed of clothing – that, just broke her. "This better not be what I'm _thinking _it _could _be."

"It's WATER, Ginny. She doused me with a pail of cold water before…"

"-God," the redhead interjected with a chortle, failing to hide her insipid remark, "Ron was right…"

Hermione cinched her belt about her waist, chuckling, "Agreeing with your brother – it must be the apocalypse. But what praytell – could he ever be _right_ about."

Dismissing the playful intonation hanging on Hermione's words, Ginny continued, "…Jumping from him t'her, sopping bed-sheets, all night snog-fests…that you're kinky girl."

"What are you implying…"

"You've pulled a Parvati."

"NOT you…don't you _even_ dare start on me…after _you_ coaxed me to face her!", warned Hermione vehemently.

Sparing no glance to the Muggle, Ginny effortlessly spat out, "…I'm _jealous_, if she can turn _you_, she must be one helluva-"

Her body suddenly jostled backward and her feet had barely situated themselves. She had been blindsided as Hermione forcibly laid into her body with a shove. The sudden move truncated her words and caused her tongue to be inadvertently clamped between her teeth. Ginny turned her head, meeting Hermione with a dead stare.

The Muggle defiantly glared back at Ginny. Their emotions were raw.

"She and…I…_This_ is different!" Hermione groped for words, "So don't even _begin_ to preach to me about her…You don't know what she's like!" As Ginny rose to her feet, Hermione continued to rave, "I _went_ for it Ginny – You told me to and I _went_. You have no right to be contemptuous – why the hell are you! Why now!"

The redhead seethed, "Because I never thought you had the _moxy_ Granger! I didn't think you'd actually grow a set and _do_ something." Ginny laughed bitterly, "Let alone fuck the twat! Bet she had a fine time finding out she was _second_ fiddle," The chaser feinted a mock 'oops', covering her mouth with her fingertips, "Aww, poor thing - no _cherry_ to pop!" her tirade ended with a mutterance, "…At least _one_ Weasley managed to bag you…"

Silence strewn between the pair before Hermione began to move passed Ginny, pausing only to brokenly asked, "…why are you doing this to me…"

The taller girl, the more athletic girl, pivoted about grabbing Hermione by her arms hissing out inconsolably,

"….Because you never gave _me _one look. I was _right_ in fronta your _face…_ it should have been _me!_"

--

Gabrielle was tucked into a fetal position, having waited all night for her sister. Sleep – she was told – was nothing but a waste of time. You'll get plenty of it, when you're dead. Someone would be getting that eternal sleep then. But it won't be her. The teenager felt the heavy hand of the Sandman resting on her shoulder and discarded it with little more than a turning of her head.

Her bleary eyes sought out the sole timepiece in Fleur's room. A Muggle digital clock. It glowed green, cutting the dimness of the room.

"Sony says…that it's eight-thirty in the morning," murmured Gabrielle. Her voice cracked, inferring just how tired her body was. Slowly pulling herself upright, she hissed, "Accio wand." Her wand spiraled through the air, slipping comfortably into her lazed grasp before she murmured, "Lumos." As the room lit, her weary gaze swept about. Gabrielle's body began to quake as a laugh peeled from her lips.

"And she's not here." Her legs swung over the side of Fleur's bed while Gabrielle's eyes stared into empty space.

Her mind whirled deep into a chasm of charcoal black. It screamed that this would happen. But Gabrielle refused to acknowledge she'd been replaced. Her relationship with her sister was _supposed_ to be on solid ground. Unshakeable. Undeniable. Unchallenged.

There was nothing that they would have not told the other.

_Except the fact that she was a whore. A carpet munching whore. Just as that Weasley man told you._

She buried her face in the net of her hands while her body continued its unsolicited shaking due to her morbid laughter. Gabrielle did as she was told, she always did as she was told – in kind the girl was rewarded. As the school days passed the lure of knowledge of more magics had beckoned her subtly – dark arts or not – she became a vacuum that devoured every manifesto she laid her hands on. But not only did that knowledge come by paper they appeared as whispers from her daydreams… Twisted and full of malcontent.

She became _their_ physical link – their new _tool_. With the promise of knowledge that would grant her even ground with her peers, Gabrielle sacrificed her humanity with her _sacrifice_ of Lavender Brown. In hopes to retain the only love that ever mattered to her. Her perverse and possessive love of….

"…Fleur." Gabrielle ceased her chuckling, inclining her head slightly. There was a perfumed fragrance lightly clinging about the air accompanied with a soft _crack_ the resounded from outside the main bedchamber. Her sister had finally returned. Rising to her feet, the lanky teenager pulled open the bedroom door. Barefoot, Gabrielle moused her way through the hall. The scent grew poignant, signaling to the girl that she was close to its source.

Light poured mercilessly into the main hub of the domicile, causing Gabrielle to shade her sensitive, red-rimmed eyes. Peering into the living room, movement had stayed her breath. The elegantly tall woman pivoted about, flashing her imperial smile. The woman closed the gap that lay between them with a few strides. The warmth of her sister's hand as it graced her cheek pulled her gaze upward. Flecks of silver nested between pools of blue pierced their way into her being. She saw Fleur's lips move…

Nothing could have been more difficult than this moment in Fleur's life. As she gazed to her younger sister, she fought to find the words of apology that refused to flow past her lips. "I 'adn't meant to…" she heard herself begin, "-things _just_ happened, Gabrielle." Her voice trailed, cracking slightly, "...there are things I need to say."

She felt the younger girl nestle comfortably in her palm. That instance gave Fleur a sense of calm. It coaxed her to tempt the fates and speak the truth to her sibling. Conservative as Gabrielle was, Fleur had confidence in their bond.

"I fought for a long time with this…"

The shorter woman placed a chaste kiss to Fleur's palm.

"But I 'ad to be certain this time before I could…"

Gabrielle continued to invade Fleur's space, curling her arms about her beloved sister's waist.

"…tell you _why_…I am the way I am." The Frenchwoman succumbed to the embrace, holding fast to her sister. "Why I'm…_different, _Gabrielle."

The younger Veela pressed her ear to Fleur's chest; she heard the soft timed beat of the elder's heart. It was strong with every breath she took. And only grew stronger with the words that fell from her lip.

"Last night there was a chance for me to be…whole."

Gabrielle shut her eyes.

"I took it.", whispered Fleur, threading her fingers through her sister's tresses.

The young woman coasted her hand from Fleur's waist, to have it flail gently against her own thigh. Gabrielle's fingers brushed against the butt of her wand…

"…and I fell in love," the elder woman quietly admitted. "But it was…nothing more for _her_ than sex."

The teenager's wand was freed from the haven it was secured in.

"I…should have been more careful, to trust to tell you that I'm" she paused, feeling a lump form at the pit of throat "…I should have been a sister to you." Pulling back slightly, Fleur cupped her sister's face between her hands, "I should have apologized to you sooner." She searched her younger sister's gaze, "will you forgive me?"

Gabrielle's lips slipped into a smile, somber and lost. She searched her thoughts for the proper conveyance. When nothing came to the fore, she felt the tip of her wand touch her sister's chest – pulling her from the cobweb. Her brow knitted together while her eyes glossed. When Gabrielle finally found her voice, it was a raspy murmur…

"_Stupefy."_

Crystal eyes deadened to dull grays. Only ragged breaths fell from Fleur's mouth.

It was a deafening crack that sent a pulse through Fleur's body; the force of which sent her colliding against a Cathedral-like window. A stab of pain shot from the base of her tailbone to the nape of her neck when the glass crushed against her back. The glass itself did not remain in tact as it collapsed about her.

Gabrielle crossed the expanse of the floor, kicking away the debris that lay in her path with her bared feet; she stopped short at the shards of glass skirting about her older sister. The hand that grasped her wand involuntarily shook while it leveled towards Fleur once more. The woman gasped laboriously.

"…Only if _you_ can ," the younger woman softly delivered. Sliding her finger along the smooth alabaster base of her wand, Gabrielle held it as steady as she could, pointed towards Fleur's prone form. She met the elder woman's colorless gaze, "Which I don't think you have…" her lips opened once more.

"_stupefy…"_

--

Her hands grew laxed about the shorter girl's shoulders – her voice became restrained, dipping lower to a level of a plea.

"If you wanted to _know_ so badly what it would'a been like, 'Mione…", Ginny rasped, "All you needed was to _ask me... _Just _tell_ me…tell me…"

There was a sense of desperation emanating from Ginny. Hermione struggled to free from not only her friend's vise but also the heavy burden that her words carried. The inference it presented.

"I…_can't_ – please…don't let me lie to y-." Hermione scarcely had the time to eek out the final syllable. Ginny stole that from her as their lips met in a tortured embrace. The kiss was fierce, hungry…but salted with bittersweet torment. Her hands groped at the redhead's frontal lapels, fighting the urge to respond…

Hermione was saved the anguish…the sunlight that tore into the room, bathing the occupants in a heated blanket. Everything seemed frozen in time except the wind that carried with it sounds of concrete crumbling, chafing against glass shards.

She shoved Ginny forcefully from her, sending the taller woman stumbling backward.

Using the base of her palm, Hermione mopped the excess saliva that clung to her lips. Tearing her eyes from Ginny, the muggle's attention was shot towards the source of the disturbance; a singular thought went threadbare into her mind, burrowing further into her body. "…Fleur…", voicing it only strengthened the sudden heat that massaged from her chest. The worry mounted.

With a hand grasping over her heart, she spared no other moment and pivoted on her heel…

"Hermione!"

The muggle paused at the door, her back went ramrod at the urgent calling of her name.

"_She_ doesn't need you!" The Chaser hissed out.

The Head Girl glanced over her shoulder towards the redhead. Hermione furrowed her brow as she spoke in hushed tones.

"…but I _need_ her."

--

When her head slapped on the ground, Gabrielle's hair fanned in an ethereal halo. Likening the girl to a fallen angel. She had the upper hand in one instance, but her last spell casting backfired at the second. Her face lifted from the damp earth, she shook her head free from its dizzied grasp. Gabrielle scoured around her and saw people crowding about the area. She was suddenly outside.

Her hand was like a vise wrapped about the base of her wand. Gabrielle pushed herself from the ground, bruised, cut and wounded in pride. The young woman's eyes overflowed with saline and barely had enough leeway to see straight, the emotionally rabid teen turned spearing her wielded weapon outward:

"_Furiatia!_"

Fleur countered the spell with an incantation of defense – breaking the charm, living up to her signature profession. Her sister's first volley sent her reeling. She was unprepared for it, even though the confrontation was expected. It wasn't _supposed_ to be _violent. _Gabrielle was _supposed_ to surrender under her care and protection…The Order promised that her sister's sentence wouldn't be extreme.

But no one took into account what would happen if Lavender Brown died.

It wasn't _supposed_ to be like this.

Then again…there was so many things that were _supposed_ to be.

With her composure slowly slipping from her control, Fleur desperately attempted to use her natural ability to comb through Gabrielle's thoughts and emotions – but a Veela, using her powers on another of her kind is like a human trying to reach an understanding with a wall.

"It doesn't 'ave to be this way, Gabrielle!" Snapped Fleur – she tore through the gaping wound of the wing she was housed in; Fluer dimissed the intermittent slices born unto her bared feet by the mixed debris, "I won't let them 'urt you – give yourself up to me…!"

"No one HURT me as much as _you have_!" Gabrielle launched herself into a sprint, barreling her way towards her elder sister, "I _hate_ you!"

Fleur was blunted with the insipid words rapid firing from her sister's lips; so much that the physical collision of their bodies echoed off the walls as a sharp _slap – _the elder Veela hadn't even put up a fight.

Hermione burst through the dense mass of bodies that stood dumbly watching the sight before them. Her eyes rested onto the form of the younger straddled the other, pressing the tip of her wand into the jugular of Fleur's neck; the soft flesh gave way from the pressure while the once proud Frenchwoman grasped in vain at Gabrielle's throat with one hand; as the other – as it gripped her wand - was nestled at the girl's abdomen.

Pinned beneath the weight of her sister, Fleur's eyes shifted about the area around her, locking on Hermione for only one allowed beating of her heart – she wished for nothing more to spare Hermione from what was about to occur. But the look was enough to draw Gabrielle's interest towards her sister's line of sight…That was sufficient in stroking the younger Veela's ire.

The Frenchwoman felt the tip began to grow warm against her tender skin.

When her attention was pulled back to her sister, Gabrielle lowered herself and touched her forehead to her Fleur's own whispering a throaty, almost garbled prose, "_Avada…_"

The Charm Breaker – with unhidden pain - willed her own weapon awake with a soft counter utterance as it stabbed upward against the younger DeLacour, "_Corpus…"_

"_Kav.."_

"_Requi-"_

"_..ad-"_

"_-Em!"_

"_-d…a…!"_

The cry of her name clinging on Hermione's lips was the last that registered in Fleur's mind before the blanket of white, silenced it.

--

a/n – _The end is just around the bend._


End file.
